As Zughaib left The Suite, the weight of the encounter with his brother still lingered on his shoulders. The warmth of family, the brief respite, had left a sour taste in his mouth. He knew he couldn't stay in that world—too many shadows followed him, too many loose ends that refused to be tied up. Just as he stepped out into the crisp evening air, he noticed a sleek black sedan parked by the roadside, its windows tinted dark. The driver's side window rolled down just enough for him to see who was behind the wheel.
Orwen.
Without a word, Zughaib walked over and slipped into the passenger seat, the door closing with a soft thud. The sedan pulled away from the curb, the hum of the engine the only sound breaking the silence between them.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Orwen kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable, but the tension was palpable. It wasn't until they merged into traffic that Orwen finally broke the silence.
"The black van we bugged after the flea market?" he began, his voice low and casual, as though they were discussing the weather. "It led through a forest road, somewhere far off the city grid. We were tracking it for miles until—" He snapped his fingers. "—the bug was destroyed. Gone."
Zughaib's face remained impassive, but his mind churned. The forest road, the black van, the bug being destroyed—things were getting more complicated. It wasn't just a simple gang anymore. He felt the pieces shifting in ways that made the picture murkier, more dangerous.
Orwen sighed, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "I've had my suspicions for a while now, and this confirms it. Anarchy CM isn't just a solo gang. It's something much bigger. There's no way they could be operating at this scale without some serious backing. And that means only one thing…" He glanced at Zughaib, his lips curling into a tight smile. "DARKCON."
The name hung in the air, heavy and full of meaning. Zughaib had known, deep down, that DARKCON was more than just a paramilitary organization. They were a syndicate, pulling strings from behind the scenes, orchestrating events with far-reaching consequences. If Anarchy CM was in bed with DARKCON, then this operation was more than just a small-time game. It was a syndicate with layers of conspiracy.
Orwen chuckled suddenly, though there was no humor in it. "Wouldn't be surprised if a demon cult was involved too, the way things are going," he quipped. But the lightness in his tone didn't last, and he quickly cleared his throat, his expression growing serious again as they approached their destination.
The sedan turned off the main road and pulled up near a construction site on Cadonna Street. From a distance, they could see a DARKCON member—recognizable by his skimask, bomb-resistant kevlar vest, and white jumpsuit—berating two smaller goons near a half-finished building. The goons flinched as the DARKCON member slapped one of them across the face before heading toward a waiting wagon. The interaction was swift and brutal, ending with the larger man disappearing into the vehicle and driving off.
Orwen parked the sedan at a discreet distance, leaving the engine idling. He turned to Zughaib, his eyes glinting with cold calculation. "I need you to handle this. We need that package they've got. I don't care how you do it, but get it."
Zughaib didn't respond verbally. He simply nodded, stepping out of the car and into the shadows of the construction site. His movements were fluid and controlled, his mind focused on the task ahead.
The two goons—still nursing their bruised egos from their encounter with the DARKCON member—stood by the side of their vans, muttering curses under their breath. Zughaib could hear fragments of their conversation as he approached silently, keeping to the shadows.
"F*cking DARKCON bastards… think they can just slap us around…"
"I'll kill that guy one day, mark my words…"
They were so caught up in their anger that they didn't notice Zughaib until it was too late. Moving with the precision of a predator, he closed the distance in an instant, delivering a devastating dropkick to the first goon, sending him crashing into the side of the van. Before the second could react, Zughaib followed up with a sideswipe, his fist connecting with the man's jaw, knocking him out cold.
With both men incapacitated, Zughaib quickly searched the van, finding a pistol and a small package stashed beneath the passenger seat. The package was unmarked, but heavy, its contents a mystery for now. Satisfied with his findings, Zughaib made his way back to the sedan, slipping into the passenger seat once more.
Orwen glanced at the package, a pleased smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Good. Let's move."
The sedan glided through the city streets, eventually pulling into the quiet, desolate area known as Painsbury. The barren landscape was a stark contrast to the urban sprawl they had just left behind. Here, the air was still, and the only sign of life was an RV parked on the edge of a dusty lot, its once-bright paint faded by years of neglect.
Orwen parked the sedan a short distance away and nodded toward the RV. "This belonged to Jovian," he said, his voice carrying a rare note of reverence. "Before he got involved with BIF, this was his sanctuary. His place of reflection."
Zughaib remained silent, his eyes tracing the outline of the RV. The mention of Jovian's name stirred something in him, a reminder of the past—of their days in the Flanké Platoon, of battles fought and lost. Jovian had been more than just a leader; he had been a guiding force, a mentor. And now, his legacy lingered here, in this forgotten corner of the world.
Orwen stepped out of the sedan and motioned for Zughaib to follow. Together, they walked to the RV, the ground crunching beneath their feet. Orwen unlocked the door and gestured for Zughaib to step inside.
The interior was sparse but functional, a small space that carried the weight of its former owner. Old maps and documents were tacked to the walls, and a worn-out cot sat in the corner, a reminder of the man who once lived here. Orwen's eyes softened as he glanced around, his voice low and contemplative.
"Jovian was a good man," he said quietly. "Flawed, but good. This was his retreat, a place where he could think, plan, and try to make sense of everything." He paused, turning to look at Zughaib. "He respected you, Zughaib. He spoke about you often."
Zughaib didn't respond, but his chest tightened at the mention of Jovian's respect. He hadn't known that.
After a moment, Orwen pulled an RV key from his pocket and handed it to Zughaib. "This place belongs to you now," he said, his tone shifting back to its usual formality. "It's yours to use, to keep, whatever you need. Consider it a token of… trust."
Zughaib took the key, turning it over in his hand as he stared at the RV. A sense of finality washed over him, as though the past and present were colliding in this small, forgotten place. It wasn't a clean break, but it was something.
Orwen's voice broke through his thoughts, lighter now, almost amused. "I'll leave you to get settled." He turned and walked back to the sedan, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
As the car drove off, leaving nothing but dust in its wake, Zughaib stood alone in front of the RV, the key cold in his palm. He exhaled slowly, the weight of everything pressing down on him. This was a new chapter, but it was far from an end. If anything, the path ahead had grown darker, more twisted.
But for now, he had the key. And the next move was his.