The walk back was suffocatingly quiet. Neither Philip nor Nunin were stupid or brave enough to break the silence, the weight of Joshua's current mood pressing down on them like a lead blanket. Even the hardened residents of the slums, no strangers to bloodshed or battered figures trudging through their streets, gave the trio a wide berth. It wasn't just the bruises, cuts, and blood that marked the two out of the three of them—it was the palpable, oppressive aura radiating from Joshua. There were no words for it, no better way to describe it. It was a storm contained within a man, threatening to burst at any moment.
As they neared the warehouse, the acrid stench of smoke hit them first, followed by the sight of dark plumes curling into the sky. Philip's ears twitched, and his nose wrinkled instinctively. Then, they saw the source—flames licking hungrily at what had once been their base of operations. The fire was merciless, reducing everything they had to smoldering ash.
The crackle of the fire wasn't the only sound. Ahead of them, a young woman flanked by two rough-looking men strolled leisurely toward them. The woman's hands were stuffed into her jacket pockets, and she whistled an upbeat tune as if she hadn't a care in the world. As the three approached, the woman smirked, casting a glance at Joshua's group, her lips curling into a mocking grin.
As they passed, one of the men, his voice thick with amusement, chuckled, "Easiest job of our lives, ain't I right, Jessika?"
"Shut it, Dane," Jessika replied, though there was no true reprimand in her tone. She laughed softly, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Joshua, Philip, and Nunin. "He already looks so fucked. Don't need to rub it in."
The second man, Charles, snorted and added, loud enough for the three to hear, "Yeah, them and their whole operation are fucked!"
Jessika laughed again, a short, sharp sound. "You said it, Charles." The trio walked on, their voices fading as they disappeared down the street, their laughter lingering in the air like a mocking echo.
Philip's lip curled, baring his fangs at their retreating backs. His claws flexed instinctively, itching for a fight, but he stopped himself and turned to Joshua. Joshua stood still, his gaze locked on the inferno consuming the warehouse. The orange and red flames reflected in his hollow eyes, but his expression remained unreadable, almost as if the fire didn't matter—or perhaps it mattered too much for him to process.
"What do we do now?" Philip snarled, the frustration boiling over in his voice. He gestured toward the fire. "We lost bloody everything!"
Joshua didn't respond at first. He kept staring at the fire, unblinking, as though the flames held the answer to some unspoken question. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and quiet. "Now?"
Joshua turned his head slightly, meeting Philip's gaze. His face was devoid of emotion, his tone devoid of warmth. "You do your worst."
Philip froze, taken aback for a brief moment, before his expression shifted into a feral grin. The wolfish gleam in his eyes returned as he growled, "I will."
---
"So, you're telling me Copperhand took down Joshua Ambrose's drug operation in just one day?" Tores asked, his tone teetering between disbelief and awe as he leaned forward in his chair.
Malvin nodded, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "He did," he said curtly, his voice heavy with lingering bitterness. "Just wish he'd managed to put down both of them while he was at it."
"Hey," Clare chimed in hesitantly, "do you think, now that he's dead, we should stop calling him Copperhand and use his actual name?"
The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at her. Jos scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe? I dunno, though. Feels kinda... weird, doesn't it?"
Aeron, interjected before anyone could respond. His voice was flat and emotionless, as always. "Simon Baslike died during his last case. Only Copperhand remained. We will not honor a betrayer of the Ironguard and a crime lord by using his real name, even if he helped dismantle Joshua Ambrose's drug operation."
The weight of Aeron's words lingered in the room, silencing further debate. Even Jos, who was nowhere near as 'gloomy' on life as Aeron, gave a small nod of acknowledgment. "That's... certainly one way of looking at it," Loreen murmured.
"I'm inclined to agree," Malvin added, his voice firm. "Copperhand's crimes far outweigh whatever good he did—both as a detective and a crime lord."
The topic seemed all but closed when Clare spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "Still... I can't help but feel bad for him. That last case he took... it really scarred him."
Loreen nodded solemnly. "I'm sure that case would have scarred anyone who took it up," she said, her tone measured. "Both physically and mentally, just like it did Copperhand."
Jos chuckled, though it lacked any real humor. He jabbed a thumb toward Aeron beside him. "I'm not so sure about that. I mean, this guy's pretty much dead behind the eyes already, so I doubt he'd be affected."
Aeron didn't even blink. His reply was immediate and delivered with his usual deadpan tone. "I will offer no counterargument," while laughing his creepy laugh that was just the most... uncanny-ist of valleys.
"Anyway, moving on from that," Tores said, shifting uncomfortably before turning his gaze away from Aeron and back to Malvin. "What happened, Captain? What's the next part of the story?" His tone carried an edge of curiosity, though the heavy atmosphere in the room threatened to dull it.
Malvin let out a long, weary sigh, his arms dropping to his sides. "You know what?" he began, rubbing the back of his neck. "Since this whole story of my life has been nothing but doom and gloom for you all so far…" He paused, glancing around the room. The somber mood was undeniable—everyone looked either pensive or downright morose.
He straightened up slightly and folded his arms again, his tone shifting to something lighter. "I think I owe you all something a little less miserable. I'll tell you what happened one day during the week after we got the news from the Deputy Chief that Joshua Ambrose's drug operation had been shut down."
That earned a few raised eyebrows, though no one interrupted him.
"That week," Malvin continued, "also happened to coincide with the one stretch of winter where we finally got breaks—breaks we desperately needed, mind you, even if my younger self would've argued otherwise at the time." The faintest chuckle escaped Malvin as he shook his head at the thought. "But let's put all that aside for now. I'll tell you about something else—a moment that was one of the more... irritating to me but I'm sure entertaining to all of you things that happened to me…"