Flisk's Gambit
“There is only one way we can do this,” Julius began with a determined tone. “The man I mentioned—the one who can help us secure weapons—runs a tea house in the city. Let me go in alone and seek his help sneaking you in.”
After securing entry with his Wellington pass, Julius rendezvoused with Flisk, a man as enigmatic as the city itself. Flisk, a well-connected figure whose flamboyant demeanor masked his deeper intentions, greeted Julius with an exaggerated tone. His presence exuded an unsettling charm, a blend of calculated hospitality and veiled menace.
Under the cover of dusk, Flisk led Darius and the others through a concealed passageway into Stork City. As they entered, Flisk’s tea house came into view, a structure that stood out in the city’s vibrant landscape. The building was an architectural anomaly, illuminated by soft, warm lanterns that seemed to guard its secrets.
Inside, the atmosphere was anything but ordinary. The air buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Diverse patrons mingled, playing games of chance, engaging in whispered conversations, and indulging in pleasures that Stork City’s strict moral codes ostensibly forbade. The scent of exotic spices, incense, and tea leaves mingled with the faint aroma of expensive liquors.
“You didn’t mention Mr. Flisk was one of them!” Peter hissed under his breath, eyeing Flisk warily.
“Peter!” Darius snapped, his voice low but firm.
Julius intervened with a sigh. “He’s different. Trust me—he’s a decent man… most of the time.”
Flisk, having overheard, smirked and responded smoothly, “Your suspicion is justified, young man. I’m not proud of what some of my people have done to yours. But rest assured, this is a sanctuary for those willing to pay the price.” With that, he gestured for them to follow.
The group moved deeper into the tea house, passing rooms filled with patrons engaged in activities that blurred the lines between leisure and debauchery.
“A tea house?” Hans muttered to his companions. “This looks more like a whorehouse to me.”
Flisk turned with a theatrical flourish and opened a door to a quieter room. “Gentlemen,” he said, “refreshments are on the house.” They entered and sat down on plush cushions as a servant brought trays of aromatic tea and delicacies.
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“If my assumption is correct,” Flisk began, his tone shifting to one of measured caution, “you’re on the run. I have no patience for troublemakers disrupting my business. If that’s your plan, I’ll have no choice but to see you out—forcefully.”
Julius raised a hand in reassurance. “We mean no harm. We’ve been caught up in a mess, but we’ll sort it out and leave you in peace soon.”
Flisk studied him with narrowed eyes. “I’ve known you for years, Mr. Jackman, so I’ll offer you shelter for a week—on the condition that you behave. But heed my warning: if this arrangement brings even a whiff of danger to my doorstep, I’ll become the man you’ll be running from.”
Julius nodded. “I understand. Thank you for taking the risk.” He hesitated before continuing, “We need more than shelter, though. We need weapons—around 100 machine guns, if possible. We’ll pay handsomely.”
Flisk raised an eyebrow, his expression hardening. “Weapons? Do you have any idea what you’re asking? I’ve seen enough fools try to rise against the empire, only to meet their deaths. You won’t win this fight—not by force. Take my advice and abandon this path.”
Julius tried to reassure him, but Peter interrupted. “Mr. Flisk,” he began with measured urgency, “you deserve the truth. We’ve become adversaries of the Wellington household. Alongside us, there are hundreds of others hiding in Lightshore City. We need these weapons to protect them.”
Flisk turned to Darius, his gaze sharp. “And you, Darius King. It’s been years, but I remember you. A lone survivor. Once a voice for your people, now reduced to hiding like prey. Surely you know better than to gamble on a lost cause?”
Darius met his gaze. “I’ve learned that words alone can’t stop the torment my people endure daily. If there’s any hope of ending it, I’ll take the risk.”
Flisk’s laughter was cold and bitter. “A noble sentiment, but misguided. Stay here for a week if you wish, but forget your plans. Enjoy life’s pleasures while you can—music, drink, women. You’ll find that they offer more solace than rebellion ever will.”
With that, Flisk left the room, leaving the group to contemplate his words.
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Flisk’s warning hung heavily in the air. As the laughter and music from the tea house echoed faintly through the walls, the group realized the truth of his words. Their adversaries were formidable, their plans perilous. The road ahead was fraught with uncertainty, and their resolve would be tested like never before.