The Stigma (by Koltin Scott)

Chap. III

"Or what king, going to make war against another king, sitteth not down first, and consulteth whether he be able with ten thousand to meet him that cometh against him with twenty thousand? Or else, while the other is a great way off, he sendeth an ambassage, and desireth conditions of peace."

–Luke XIV: XXXI-XXXII (14:31-32 KJV)

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The Black Baron

     "Dragoons?" I said incredulously.

     Waya nodded to me, a around-the-house hoodie over his shaggy hair, his eyes harder than when we first met. Ten years ago he had the fearless gape of the hunted but now he is the hunter. He was once a pup, but now he is a wolf.

     It's been a week since the funeral of my friend. I had stood on a distant building watching the processions. Two weeks since his death, I was still planning on keeping my promise.

     We both thought in silence. This is a very serious thing, the Dragoons have marked me or even us. Their titles are not false, The Lords of the Labyrinth of Crime, nor their power, by an order they dethrone sultans, presidents and kings to put paupers and fatherless in their seats. By whim they massacre, by command the commit genocide, and probably just for fun... they marked us.

     "It's my fault," he said.

     I looked at him confused but quickly realized that he wasn't thinking about the current situation.

     "I should have been there to protect you, and-"

     "Quiet Waya, I would have been attacked with you not there anyway. Why would one lug around one's brother or goon on a date or other occasions?"

      I felt kinda bad about chastising him like that, but we can't change the past. We also know that our bonds run thicker than water, no need to redress our loyalty to the other over and over. No matter how much it touches my heart.

     The answer on his tongue was kinda obvious but needed to be addressed,

     "We can't fight them Godfather, they are stronger than Hulk Hogan on Bane's super-strength serum."

     If this were a movie that might be funny. Such a corny phrase coming from a dark, serious, and emotionless figure in a laughless state. I try not to kill unless necessary and I try to never ever cuss. The air is so heavy that I might start cussing and bring sailors from the dead to blush.

     Anyway...

     There is only one answer.

     "We have no choice but to fight, Waya. We can't buy them off us. They are absolutely self sufficient and started this war for only one thing: the thrill of the hunt."

     "Are you sure that they were not going for ransom?"

     The thought caused me to reflect on it. When I was attacked they were more careful toward me. Where if they were sent to simply kill me, then they wouldn't have spoke to me. Such care only comes from the fear of the leader punishing failure worse than death.

      "The FBI has our identities and won't take kindly me blowing their op," I sulked my head into my palm, "or shocking their boys till their heads popped."

      "We can't be presumptuous with the most powerful villains in the world."

      "The ransom would have required us to sell something to pay it off! The price is now above our heads and going to drown us!"

     "Then we'll pay the initial ransom and promise payments."

     I sighed, very very deeply. We need to know what they want. We need an emissary.