The morning sun barely pierced through the thick clouds as Leon sat at the far corner of the barracks, sharpening a jagged piece of stone against the edge of a rusty old nail. His hands moved methodically, his mind elsewhere—always planning, always thinking of the next step. The night before had been a success, and he could almost imagine the chaos the guards would wake up to.
He was deep in thought when he heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching. Grig stumbled into view, his face a mix of panic and frustration, his greasy hair matted against his forehead. He looked worse than usual, sweat pouring down his face despite the cool air.
"Leon!" Grig hissed, his voice sharp and strained. He glanced around, making sure no one else was listening. "What the fuck are you doing?"
Leon didn't look up immediately, continuing to scrape the stone with deliberate slowness. He liked making Grig wait, watching the nervous tick in the man's eye worsen with each passing second.
"You're gonna have to be more specific, Grig," Leon said, his voice calm, even bored. "What exactly am I doing?"
"You know what I mean!" Grig's voice cracked with desperation. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his fingers trembling slightly. "The guards... they're on edge, man. I can feel it. They're starting to talk. They won't deal with me like they used to, won't even take the rations I offer them. Something's changed, and they're blaming me for it."
Leon finally looked up, his cold, calculating eyes locking onto Grig's. "They're not blaming you, Grig. They're just realizing that things aren't as easy as they thought. And maybe... they're starting to feel a little less safe."
Grig swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting with the dirty rag tied around his waist. "What did you do? What are you up to? You've been too quiet lately. I've heard rumors, and—"
Leon cut him off with a low chuckle, the sound dark and humorless. "Rumors? Let them talk. I haven't done anything, Grig. Nothing they can prove, anyway."
Grig's eyes darted around, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Listen... I've done business with these guards for years, alright? I've survived this place by keeping things stable, by knowing when to push and when to back off. You're fucking with that balance. They're nervous, and when they get nervous, they stop dealing with people like me."
Leon stood up slowly, towering over Grig. "And why should I care about your little business arrangements? You're a rat, Grig. You feed off the scraps they throw you, thinking you're somehow better than the rest of us. But guess what? You're still a slave. And when the time comes, they won't hesitate to cut you down just like they would anyone else."
Grig took a shaky step back, his face twisting in anger and fear. "You think you're so damn clever, huh? You think you're gonna change something? All you're doing is making things worse for all of us. The guards are getting paranoid, and that means more beatings, more suffering. And if they find out you're behind it... they'll kill you, Leon. Slowly."
Leon's expression darkened, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "They can try."
Grig clenched his fists, but the fear was still there, plain as day. He knew he couldn't go up against Leon—he'd tried before, and it hadn't ended well for him. He was a coward, driven by self-preservation, and Leon had no use for people like him.
"Look," Grig muttered, his voice breaking. "I'm just saying... if you keep this up, you're gonna burn everything down. The guards won't deal with me, and that means no more medicine, no more food. You're screwing us all."
Leon's gaze never wavered. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "The guards are already screwing us, Grig. Every day. Every breath we take in this shithole is just another reminder of that. I'm not here to make friends, and I sure as hell don't care about keeping their little economy going. They've had their fun, and now it's my turn to mess with them."
Grig stared at him, his mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to argue but couldn't find the words. His desperation hung in the air like a bad smell, and Leon could see the wheels turning in his head. Grig wanted to stop him, but he didn't have the spine to do it.
"Look," Leon said, his tone softening just a fraction, "I'm not stopping you from doing your business. You want to keep running your little scams, fine. But I'm not playing by your rules anymore. The guards are starting to feel uncomfortable, and that's a good thing. If they're nervous, they make mistakes. And when they make mistakes, that's when we strike."
Grig shook his head, his voice weak. "You're gonna get us all killed."
Leon leaned in closer, his face inches from Grig's. "Not if I get to them first."
The tension between them hung in the air for a moment longer before Grig finally broke eye contact, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He turned away, muttering curses under his breath as he stumbled back toward the shadows.
Leon watched him go, his mind already racing ahead. The guards were getting nervous—that much was clear. But they hadn't yet connected the dots. They hadn't figured out that one of their slaves was working against them, destabilizing their carefully constructed world.
Good.
Leon wiped the grime from his hands and went back to sharpening his makeshift blade. Grig was scared, the guards were scared. But fear was a powerful tool, and Leon intended to use it.