Dio sat cross-legged in his hideout, a crumbling room on the outskirts of the slum. The stolen firearms and goods were laid out before him—a small arsenal of opportunity. But guns alone didn't win wars; people did.
"I need a crew," he muttered, fingers drumming against the cold floor. His shadow twisted unnaturally on the wall, restless. "People I can trust… or at least control."
Dio began his search the same way he did everything: from the shadows. He prowled the slum, blending into the chaos as just another street rat. He watched and listened, studying those who moved differently—the ones who carried themselves with purpose despite their ragged clothes.
One boy, no older than ten, darted through the marketplace with the grace of a predator, his fingers quick as lightning as he pocketed coins from distracted vendors. A thief with potential.
A burly man stood at the entrance of an alley, his scarred fists and steely gaze keeping troublemakers at bay. A fighter.
Near the gambling den, a young woman with a silver tongue charmed her way out of a losing hand, walking away with twice the money she'd started with. A talker.
Dio watched them all, noting their strengths and weaknesses. But observing wasn't enough. He needed to test them.
Dio approached the boy first, slipping into his path as he darted away from a fresh theft.
"Nice work," Dio said casually, holding up the coin pouch the boy thought he'd stolen. "But you're sloppy."
The boy's eyes widened. "How—"
"You're fast, but you don't watch your exits. I could've been anyone." Dio tossed the pouch back. "If you want to get better, meet me at the old warehouse tonight."
Next, Dio tested the fighter. He deliberately stumbled into the man's alley, dropping a handful of coins to catch his attention.
"Hey, idiot," the man growled, stepping forward.
Dio grinned. "That's some grip you've got. Bet you've knocked a few teeth out with those fists. Ever thought about making real money?"
Finally, the talker. Dio sat across from her in the gambling den, placing a small stack of stolen coins on the table.
"Care for a game?" he asked, leaning back with an easy smile.
By the end of the hand, she'd taken most of his coins, but Dio wasn't concerned.
"You're good," he said, feigning defeat. "But I can show you how to play for bigger stakes. Interested?"
Dio's recruits gathered at the warehouse that night, their faces wary but curious. The boy, the fighter, the talker, and two others Dio had picked from the shadows: a scavenger who could find anything and a lanky man who knew the slum's layout better than anyone.
"You all know this place is a hellhole," Dio began, his voice low but commanding. "But I'm offering a way out. Work with me, and you'll have food, coin, and a chance to control your own lives."
The talker smirked. "Sounds too good to be true. What's the catch?"
"No catch," Dio said. "Just loyalty. And the guts to do what needs to be done."
The room fell silent. Dio let the weight of his words settle before opening a crate of stolen firearms.
"First job's simple. We're taking down the Original Brigade. You in or out?"
For days, Dio trained his crew, teaching them how to handle the stolen guns and leveraging their unique skills.
The boy, whom Dio nicknamed "Quick," became their scout, slipping into the Brigade's territory to map their movements. The talker, "Silver," spread misinformation, whispering rumors that the West Bull planned an attack to sow confusion.
The fighter, "Bricks," drilled with the others, ensuring they were ready for close combat. The scavenger, "Scrap," outfitted them with makeshift armor scavenged from the slum. The lanky man, "Sticks," marked escape routes and weak points in the Brigade's defenses.
Dio's shadow scouted ahead during their final planning session, confirming that the Brigade's leader would be in their stronghold that night.
At midnight, Dio's crew moved like ghosts through the slum, slipping past guards and taking positions around the Brigade's hideout.
"Quick, eyes on the patrol," Dio whispered. The boy nodded, signaling when the path was clear.
Dio's shadow crept into the hideout first, relaying the positions of guards and exits. With a wave of his hand, Dio gave the signal.
The attack was swift and brutal. Scrap's improvised explosives created chaos, scattering the gang members. Bricks led the charge, his fists, and stolen gun clearing the way for the others. Silver shouted commands, her sharp tongue keeping the crew organized as they stormed through the hideout.
Dio stayed back, directing his shadow to sow further confusion. Through their senses, he saw the Brigade leader fleeing to a hidden room.
"Sticks, cover me," Dio ordered, slipping into the hideout. He found the leader cowering behind a desk, clutching a pistol.
"Don't bother," Dio said, kicking the weapon away. His passive strength made it easy to drag the man out, throwing him at Bricks' feet.
"Talk," Dio demanded, his voice cold. "What do you know about the collector?"
The leader stammered, bloodied and terrified. "He's not just a collector… he's connected to the city's underworld. Bigger than you think."
Dio's eyes narrowed. "Good. You're going to tell me everything."
As the Brigade's hideout burned behind them, Dio's crew regrouped, battered but happy. Dio stood at the center, a grim smile on his face.
"This is just the beginning," he said, watching the flames. The collector's next.