On the road, thick with the lingering scent of sea salt and damp from the ocean spray, the air felt heavy and motionless, as though the entire harbor had paused to hold its breath. Under the harsh glare of the midday sun, Bog Bay City Harbor seemed frozen in time. The waves that typically lapped noisily against the docks had stilled, their rhythm subdued, almost as if they, too, were waiting—anticipating the storm that was sure to come. Even the ever-present cries of the seagulls were absent, the birds circling silently above, their stillness unnerving in a place usually alive with sound.
The streets were barren, stripped of life and activity. Every vendor stall and shop along the road had been hastily shuttered, their weathered metal gates pulled down, locked tight. Doors were bolted, windows dark, and signs of life were nowhere to be found. Not a single soul moved through the once-busy thoroughfare, leaving it eerily quiet, like the set of a forgotten stage where the players had fled before the final act. The absence of chatter, the clatter of crates, and the hum of engines created a suffocating silence that clung to the street like fog.
Vince walked alone along the desolate road, his footsteps the only sound breaking the oppressive stillness. He exhaled slowly, tossing the smoldering butt of his cigarette to the ground with a flick of his fingers. The faint sizzle as it landed on a damp patch of pavement went unnoticed by him. His eyes closed for a brief moment as he kept walking.
His mind churned with thoughts, each one weaving into the next like a tangled web. He thought about what was about to happen—what could happen. The fight, the inevitable bloodshed, the danger that would spiral out of control once the first move was made. He knew the harbor's silence wasn't just coincidence; it was the calm before a storm, the kind of stillness that made a man's instincts scream even when there was nothing in sight.
Suddenly, a feral roar cut through the suffocating silence, erupting from his left side far in the distance. The primal sound tore through the still air, its ferocity followed by a cacophony of answering cries—hundreds of voices rising in unison, a violent symphony that echoed across the empty streets and the harbor beyond.
"It's started," Vince muttered under his breath, his voice calm but edged with urgency. "East of the harbor… the main battlefield. I've got to move—fast."
His steps quickened as he broke into a sprint, his boots slapping against the uneven pavement. He darted forward, his eyes scanning the path ahead as he closed the distance to his target. Up ahead, a rusting barrel leaned precariously against the base of a building. Without breaking stride, Vince leaped onto it, the hollow metal groaning under his weight. In one smooth motion, his hand latched onto the ledge of a shabby rooftop nearby, the cracked concrete biting into his fingers as he hauled himself upward.
From inside the building below, a soft, childlike voice filtered through the thin walls. "Mommy, who was just shouting?" the little boy asked, his words trembling with curiosity and fear.
"It's nothing, dear. Go to sleep," came the soothing but shaky voice of his mother, trying—and failing—to mask her anxiety. "Everything will be all right."
Vince's lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't pause. Pulling himself onto the rooftop, he crouched low, his breathing steady as he adjusted to his new vantage point. The rough gravel crunched faintly under his boots as he reached into his jacket and pulled out his binoculars. Raising them to his eyes, he scanned the distant chaos.
Far east, the harbor had descended into anarchy. The telltale sounds of battle—shouts, grunts, the crack of bone meeting flesh—reached his ears even from this distance. Through the lenses, the scene unfolded with brutal clarity.
Fists flew with wild abandon, bloodied and broken teeth scattered like debris. A man staggered back, his chest caving under the force of a crowbar's swing, the sickening crunch audible even from here. A makeshift bat swung through the air, colliding with someone's skull with a dull, horrifying thud. Bodies collided, slammed into walls, and crumpled to the ground. Others scrambled over crates and containers, weapons raised, brawling as though the world was ending right there on the docks.
"The day was always going to come sooner or later," Vince muttered, lowering the binoculars briefly. His eyes hardened, his jaw tightening with resolve. "Better it's me pulling the trigger now than someone else when the consequences would spiral out of control."
He raised the binoculars again, scanning the chaos below. "Everything's going according to plan," he said quietly, almost to himself. His focus shifted to the east—his true objective—and he knew he had to move quickly before the storm at the east end of the harbor consumed all of their attention.
Calder stood atop the ship's bridge, the highest point of the freighter that allowed a commanding view of the harbor and the distant horizon. His gaze wasn't fixed on the chaos erupting in the east, where his forces clashed with the Iron Fangs; instead, his eyes were locked on the distant ocean. The vast expanse of gray-blue water stretched endlessly before him, restless waves shimmering under the sunlight. His hands were clasped neatly behind his back, his posture straight, his demeanor composed. The brisk wind tugged at his black tie and tousled his dark hair, whipping them around as if they, too, sought escape from the tension-laden air.
Behind him stood Gran, the weathered old woman from the bar. Her small frame looked even smaller against the bulk of the ship's structure, but the sharpness in her tired eyes remained unyielding. She folded her arms tightly against the wind, her frayed scarf fluttering around her neck like a flag.
"How's the situation?" Calder's voice, flat and distant, cut through the sound of the wind and creaking metal. He didn't turn to face her, his focus still fixed on the open sea.
"It's begun," Gran replied, her raspy voice gravelly yet laced with weight. "Those stray dogs—the Iron Fangs thugs—are fighting our forces on the east side of the harbor, just like you predicted but something is not right, their number is less than expected." Her words were steady, but there was a trace of admiration buried beneath her gravelly tone, an acknowledgment of Calder's ability to anticipate events like clockwork.
Calder remained motionless, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. His eyes narrowed slightly, half-closed against the light reflecting off the waves.
"But you haven't even looked at the pictures that man left you," Gran said, breaking the silence. She reached into her jacket and pulled out the photos Vince had left behind, holding them out toward him. "The ones showing the Iron Fangs' hideout. Here, take them."
"They're useless. Toss them away," Calder said without a flicker of interest, his voice as cold as the breeze sweeping across the deck.
Gran's hand froze mid-motion, her face tightening into a scowl. "Why?" she asked, incredulous. "Didn't you lend the shadow team for those pictures? You practically bent over backward for that deal!"
Calder finally turned, his movements deliberate, measured. His nonchalant eyes met hers. Without a word, he plucked the photos from her hand. Without looking at them for a moment before slowly, methodically, tearing them apart, piece by piece. The soft rip of paper was swallowed by the wind as the shredded fragments were tossed aside, carried away into the distance like fallen leaves.
"Their location?" Calder said, edged with disdain. "Even a child could figure it out if they used their head. The Iron Fangs' old base was to the south of the harbor. Ours is to the north. So where else could they go but west? Deeper into the poor zone of the city, right at the edge of the industrial sprawl. The east is the open sea, and further south is nothing but wasteland. It's obvious." He paused, a faint flicker of something—pride, satisfaction—crossing his otherwise emotionless face. "Although I'll admit, their current location was quite well hidden. But I managed to find it."
Gran frowned, her curiosity deepening. "Then why bother with that deal in the first place?"
Calder turned fully now, the wind catching his tie and flinging it to the side as he regarded her with a rare intensity. His voice, normally disinterested and flat, took on a sharper edge, laced with emotion that bubbled just beneath the surface.
"Do you know, Gran," he began, his words slow and deliberate, "there are at least four big players watching this harbor right now? Four forces pulling strings, weaving schemes so intricate we can't even begin to comprehend them."
Gran nodded slightly, her gaze steady. "I do."
"Then you must understand," Calder continued, his voice rising slightly, his eyes narrowing, "that we are nothing to them. You, me, Dante—every single one of us who calls this harbor home. We're pawns. Trivial, insignificant lives thrown around on a game board we didn't even agree to play on. Dancing to their tunes, unknowingly following their plans, shackled to their goddamn schemes."
His hand clenched into a fist behind his back, his nails biting into his palm. "And what are they scheming? Who knows? Wealth? Power? Control of this entire city? It doesn't matter. What matters is that every single move we make, every breath we take, is under their thumb. And I—" He stepped forward, his voice now sharp and impassioned, "—I will not be their puppet. I will not bend my back to them any longer. They want me to dance? To smile and play along while they pull the strings? No. Fuck that."
Gran's eyes widened slightly at the uncharacteristic venom in his tone, but she didn't interrupt.
Calder exhaled, running a hand through his disheveled hair before fixing her with a steady gaze. "And why did I make that deal, you ask? Why lend him the shadow team for something I already knew?" He paused, his tone softening slightly, yet retaining its sharpness. "Because, Gran, I don't know who to trust. That man, Vince—he could be their dog, sent to keep me on a leash. Sent to keep me in check, to make sure I stay in line. But for now?" Calder smirked faintly, though his eyes burned with determination. "For now, I'll go along with it. I'll let the leash stay loose, but I'm keeping my teeth sharp. Because this?" He gestured to the harbor, to the distant chaos. "This is all part of my plan to cut the leash for good."
He turned back to the ocean, his hair whipping in the wind as he stared at the horizon. The shredded remains of the photos danced at their feet before being swept away into the open air.