The Old City

0.69: Escalating Aggression

Lucien looked over his work and shook his head with frustration. His captive had lost consciousness. They weren't supposed to do that.

"Bring me the next one," he said.

One of his underlings – he didn't know his name – dragged in a new man. His hands were chained behind his back and his ribs were showing; they weren't given nearly enough food. It was supposed to make them delirious, but Lucien preferred to make them talk through via methods.

"Alright, sir. I am going to ask some questions, and you are going to answer. If you fail to answer, you will end up like your friend here. I recommend you answer quickly. To delay does nothing but bring me more joy."

Lucien brought his knife out. It was still covered in blood, but he didn't bother to clean it. That would have been a waste, as he was about to dirty it once more.

Headquarters of the Black Phoenix

"How dare they barge into our territory?" Lucien spat. His words were such acid that even Mordat felt them burn. Half the round table flinched. "How dare they attack our people? Prepare the men. The Enforcers have declared war upon the Black Phoenix, and we will meet the challenge. If they want the streets to become a battlefield, let them run red with blood."

Relia leaned forward, the stump of her arm bandaged but still dripping with blood. "I'll make them pay ten times over for what they did to me."

"Patience," Mordat cautioned. "We can't just attack an Enforcer's precinct. We need to be smarter about this. Pick them off in twos and threes whenever we catch them in our territory. Expand our network of spies. Trick them into dark alleyways."

"No!" seethed Lucien. "The time for tricks has passed. We need to demonstrate strength now! We need to show that we are not to be trifled with, that this type of escalation will be met not with a matching violence but with catastrophic distention."

Mordat raised his eyebrow at his commander. Lucien had always had a brutal streak. When he fought, Lucien sought to inflict pain and brutalize his opponents. But he was not careless. He seldom overextended himself. His aggression was furious but usually had a purpose.

But right now, Mordat had no idea what it could be. Revenge made sense, of course. No gang could stand if it allowed attacks like tonight's stand. Picking a fight with the Enforcers, though? It didn't make sense. There were too many of them. They were too well trained. They could call reinforcements whenever they wanted.

Mordat hadn't been in the city during the Insurrection of 9979, but he'd heard of it from some of the particularly old geezers. Two thousand Second Ring Enforcers had come through the Iron Gate and razed the First Ring. Tens of thousands had died in the fires. Some of them believed the impending population decline was one of the justifications for Magnar's most recent declaration of war.

Some of the gang believed Lucien to be flawless. Terrifying, certainly – evil, perhaps – but in a way that drew respect because it was so brutally efficient. But Mordat knew better. He could make mistakes. Sometimes his aggression could get away from him.

If they tested the Enforcers and they pushed back, no gang would survive. For the first time since he'd met Lucien, Mordat wondered if he was making the right decision.

***

The music flowed well tonight. It came off Banjo's fingers easily, like it did when he'd first learned to play. Days like this were rarer in recent weeks, ever since he'd joined Marcus's crew. He wouldn't trade his place in the crew for more days like this, but he hoped this was a precursor to more such days.