Day 63: Orders
The first light of dawn crept across the ruined city, casting long shadows through the skeletal remains of crumbling buildings. Vince stood outside the museum, his breath visible in the cool morning air. His mind was sharp despite the early hour—he'd been up most of the night, waiting for Logan and Tyler to return with word on the warehouse.
He'd been chewing over their situation, contemplating how best to handle this group. The Black Fangs were ruthless, but they weren't mindless. If the group had something worth taking—something that would strengthen their position—Vince knew it might be better to keep them alive. After all, dead men didn't pay tribute.
As the first rays of sunlight bathed the city in a dim orange glow, Vince heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. His body tensed slightly, recognizing the deliberate rhythm. Whoever was approaching wasn't one of his regular lackeys. The footsteps were too measured, too confident.
A tall figure appeared from the shadows of a nearby alley, stepping into the light. Vince recognized him immediately—the man who had first confronted the group and delivered the Black Fangs' message. His lean build was wrapped in ragged clothing that bore the stains of a once-better life, though the man carried himself with the ease of someone who knew his place in the new world.
The man's expression was composed, almost eerily so, his eyes cold and calculating. There was no doubt in his stance, no hesitation. He wasn't just another thug in the ranks of the Black Fangs—he was one of the higher-ups, someone with real authority. But not the top, Vince knew. None of them really knew who was pulling the strings at the very top. The Black Fangs worked on strength and fear, with each group paying tribute to those stronger than them. That's how it worked.
"Vince," the man said, his voice smooth and quiet, yet filled with an unmistakable weight of command. "You've had a busy night."
Vince nodded, keeping his expression neutral. "We tracked the group, found their new base. They're setting up in a warehouse in the industrial district."
The tall man's gaze flickered briefly in interest, though his expression remained unreadable. "Good. The higher-ups want this situation handled quickly. You're to bring them under control. Either they start paying their weekly tribute, or you eliminate them. Simple enough."
Vince's eyes narrowed slightly. "And if they don't put up much of a fight?"
"Then they live. But they pay," the man replied, his tone flat. "We don't need to wipe out every group we come across. Resources are what matter—if they can provide, we let them."
"And if they resist?" Vince asked, though he already knew the answer.
The man's expression didn't change. "Then you know what to do. Kill them and take what they've gathered."
Vince wasn't surprised. It was how the Black Fangs operated—ruthless but practical. You didn't waste resources when you could control them. But if anyone tried to defy them, they were wiped out without hesitation.
"Alright," Vince said, his mind already working through the logistics. "How many men am I getting for this?"
The tall man's eyes flickered with amusement. "You'll have five more. That should be plenty to deal with this."
Vince felt a flicker of frustration, but he didn't let it show. Only five? It wasn't much of a backup force, especially if the group at the warehouse had managed to fortify. Still, he understood the message behind the number. This wasn't supposed to be a drawn-out conflict. The Black Fangs expected this situation to be handled swiftly.
"They'll be here by noon," the man continued, glancing briefly toward the horizon where the sun was beginning to rise. "Don't make me report failure, Vince."
Vince nodded, his face hardening. "It'll get done."
The tall man gave a brief, almost dismissive nod before turning to leave. "Remember, they either pay or they die. There's no middle ground."
As the man disappeared back into the shadows from where he had come, Vince let out a slow breath. He had expected something like this—orders from someone higher up the chain. In the Black Fangs, you didn't get to the top by questioning orders. The strong survived by controlling the weak, and those who couldn't fall in line were removed.
Vince wasn't thrilled about the prospect of facing the group without more reinforcements, but he wasn't afraid, either. He knew the Black Fangs well enough to understand the larger picture. If this group had real resources, keeping them alive to pay tribute would strengthen his position in the ranks. But if they didn't comply, Vince knew they'd be wiped out without mercy.
He paced for a moment, thinking about his next move. Logan and Tyler should have returned by now, and if they'd seen enough to confirm the group's location, then it was time to act. The five extra men would arrive later in the day, but Vince wasn't about to sit around waiting.
He made his way back toward the interior of the museum, where his remaining men were lounging about, half awake. Vince's gaze swept over them, taking stock of their readiness. They were tough enough, but he knew the group at the warehouse wouldn't go down easily—especially if they were organizing.
"Get up," Vince barked, his voice snapping through the quiet. "We've got work to do."
Tyler and Logan, who had just returned, came forward, looking tired but alert. "We saw them," Logan said. "They're in the warehouse. Looked like they were still moving in, getting supplies secured."
Tyler cracked his knuckles, grinning. "They won't be expecting us to hit so soon."
Vince nodded, the plan forming in his mind. "The higher-ups want this done clean. Either they fall in line, or we take them out."
Logan raised an eyebrow. "How many reinforcements are we getting?"
"Five," Vince replied, his voice tight.
"Five?" Tyler looked annoyed. "That's it?"
"That's what we get," Vince said, his tone brooking no argument. "We hit them fast and hard. If they're smart, they'll give up and start paying the tribute. If not, we take what's ours."
His men nodded, though Logan still looked slightly uneasy. Vince knew that feeling too—this wasn't going to be as straightforward as it sounded. But they didn't have a choice.
As the group began gearing up, Vince's mind continued to churn. The reward could be worth the risk. If the group had resources, they could feed the Black Fangs for months. Vince could leverage that to boost his own standing.
But if the group resisted, or if they were stronger than they seemed, Vince knew he'd have no choice but to kill them. It wasn't personal—just business. In this world, only the strong survived, and Vince wasn't about to fall behind.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, Vince and his men prepared for the coming storm.