Chapter 39: Invitation

Avery lounged on the worn sofa in the warehouse, his fingers tapping away at his phone screen. The farming app had become his obsession, and he'd managed to rope Sal and Billy into joining his guild. Now, he could relax knowing his virtual crops were safe from neglect and rival players' raids.

Wheels rolled into the room, his brow furrowed. "Anyone seen our two chess pieces lately?" he asked, his nickname for Rocco and Bishop clear to everyone present.

Sal looked up from his own phone. "Rocco and Bishop? Now that you mention it..."

"Yeah," Wheels continued, his voice tinged with concern. "Usually those two troublemakers are sprawled out here, snoring up a storm after their Third Street rounds. But they've been MIA for a day now."

Avery's fingers stilled on the screen, a nagging worry beginning to take root. It wasn't like Rocco and Bishop to disappear without a word. Sure, they were always out of the warehouse, but they'd never vanished like this before.

Avery's head snapped up, his game forgotten. "Hold on," he said, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Rocco mentioned something about the Third Street last time we talked. Said he'd update us when he knew more."

The room fell silent, everyone's attention now focused on Avery. His position as boss was clear in how quickly they responded to his words.

Sal, recognizing the seriousness in Avery's tone, straightened up. "You think it might be related, boss? I mean, it could just be his kid's birthday coming up. You know how Rocco gets about that."

Edward's face lit up. "A birthday? We should get gifts! What do you think the kid would like? Oh, and what should I wear? Do you think there'll be games?"

Billy shook his head. "Slow down, Ed. We haven't even been invited."

"Invited?" Edward scoffed, indignation coloring his voice. "We're Rocco's friends! Of course we're invited. And even if we're not, I'm going anyway!"

To Avery, something about this didn't add up. Rocco, missing his usual check-ins for a birthday party? It didn't sound like him at all. Rocco is diligent and on the short time he's been his henchman, he'll politely ask for a day off if this is about his kid.

Billy shook his head at Edward's enthusiasm. "It's not polite to show up uninvited, even if you are friends. We should call first."

Edward's face fell. "But I don't have his number."

Avery, who had been quietly observing, spoke up. "Here, use this," he said, scribbling down a series of digits.

Edward's fingers flew over the keypad. The group leaned in, waiting for Rocco's familiar voice to answer.

Instead, they were met with a series of harsh beeps. Edward's brow furrowed as he tried again, only to be greeted by the same robotic tones.

The mood in the room shifted. What had seemed like a simple misunderstanding now took on a more ominous tone. Rocco never turned his phone off, not unless he had a very good reason.

Edward lowered the phone, his face scrunched in confusion. "It's off. Rocco's phone is off."

Sal's eyebrows shot up. "Off? That's not like him at all. He's always glued to that thing, waiting for messages from his kids."

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only when Avery spoke up. "Try Bishop's number," he said, jotting down another set of digits.

Edward's fingers flew over the keypad once more. But as the same harsh beeps filled the air, that hope quickly faded.

"This one's off too. Are you sure these are the right numbers?" Edward reported, his earlier excitement now replaced by doubt.

"Maybe they're just avoiding us," he added, trying to inject some lightheartedness into the situation. "Perhaps they don't want us crashing their party."

Avery's stomach twisted into knots as he realized both phones were dead. "Hey, can you get Twitch to track their last known locations?" he asked.

Edward nodded. Without another word, he bolted towards Twitch's makeshift command center. The tech wizard was hunched over a massive screen, his fingers flying across multiple keyboards. These past few days had left Twitch on edge, his instincts screaming that something was off. But what exactly? He couldn't put his finger on it.

"Twitch!" Edward called out, slightly out of breath. "Avery needs you to pinpoint where Bishop and Rocco's phones last pinged. We're supposed to be heading to some birthday bash."

Twitch swiveled in his chair, raising an eyebrow. "Birthday bash? Seriously?" He shook his head, a hint of amusement in his voice. I swear, this kid, sometimes I wonder if he has got the mind of a hyperactive ten-year-old trapped in that body of him.

"Look, their phones are both dead," Edward explained, fidgeting with impatience. "Avery wants you to track their last known locations. C'mon, we've got a birthday party to crash!"

While Edward seemed more concerned about missing the festivities, a knot of worry tightened in Avery's stomach. Two phones going offline at the same time? That couldn't be a coincidence. He silently prayed his suspicions were wrong and that Bishop and Rocco were safe.

Twitch's fingers flew across the keyboard, his eyes never leaving the massive screen before him. The display flickered, showing a detailed map of Third Street before zooming out to encompass a wider area. With practiced ease, Twitch fired up a specialized tracking program and punched in Rocco's unique ID.

Seconds ticked by as the system searched, each moment feeling like an eternity. Finally, results popped up, but they only deepened the mystery. According to the data, Rocco's phone had last been active in... Razorwood? Twitch's brow furrowed in confusion.

"That can't be right," he muttered, double-checking the coordinates. "Razorwood's way out on the edge of Willowbrook. What in the world would they be doing all the way out there?"

Edward, oblivious to the oddity of the situation, bolted from Twitch's office with a grin plastered across his face. He burst into the warehouse's living room, where the others were waiting anxiously.

"Ave, we've got a hit!" he exclaimed, practically bouncing on his toes. "They're in Razorwood. C'mon, let's roll!"

Avery's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Hold up. Razorwood? That doesn't make any sense. How in the world did they end up there?"

The room buzzed with confused murmurs. Just then, the creaking of the warehouse door announced Slick's arrival. He sauntered in, only to find everyone staring at him like he'd grown a second head.

"Whoa, who died?" Slick joked, his smile faltering as he sensed the tension in the air.

Wheels cleared his throat. "Twitch traced Rocco and Bishop's phones. Last signal came from Razorwood, of all places."

Slick's expression remained unnervingly calm. "Interesting," he mused, stroking his chin. "This might be connected to that job Lucky gave them. They mentioned catching wind of the Night Gallery. Wasn't sure about the details, so they decided to get hired by the client to get a closer look."

Avery's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me?" he exclaimed. "Do they have any idea how dangerous that is?" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and worry battling for dominance. These people were supposed to be his eyes and ears, not throw themselves headfirst into peril.

Taking a deep breath, Avery's leadership instincts kicked in. He turned to Edward. "Ed, you're with me. We're heading out." Then, addressing the others, he continued, "Wheels, Sal, I need you two to hit up Lucky's pub. Dig up whatever you can about this job. If you stumble onto anything crucial, ping us immediately."

…

Darkness enveloped Rocco's world as the blindfold pressed against his eyes. The van rumbled beneath him, its monotonous hum broken only by the muffled voices of their captors. He strained to make out the words, but they slipped away like wisps of smoke.

Time stretched on, elastic and cruel. Rocco's mind wandered, replaying the moment they'd been brought to the clubhouse. Back then, everything had been different. Now? Only uncertainty remained.

The van lurched to a stop, jolting Rocco from his thoughts. Rough hands grabbed at him and the other recruits, yanking them out into the unknown. Gone was the careful treatment from before. These hands didn't care if they left bruises.

"Move it!" a gruff voice barked, giving Rocco a shove that nearly sent him sprawling.

He stumbled forward, hyper-aware of the void where his sight should be. The ground beneath his feet felt uneven – gravel, maybe? – and the air held a chill that made him shiver.

"Move," came the curt command. Unseen hands guided Rocco forward, their grip firm but not cruel. The same treatment extended to his fellow recruits, each supported to prevent any unfortunate stumbles in their sightless state.

Somewhere nearby, Michael's voice cracked with sobs and pleas. So he's awake now, Rocco thought. 

Their journey continued over uneven terrain, shoes crunching against what felt like gravel or loose stones. Rocco's other senses sharpened, compensating for his lack of sight. The air grew cooler, carrying unfamiliar scents – musty and slightly metallic.

Abruptly, the ground beneath their feet changed. Gravel gave way to smooth concrete, the sound of their footsteps echoing differently. Rocco's pulse quickened. They must be entering some kind of structure.

Without warning, hands tugged at the blindfold. Rocco blinked rapidly as it fell away, his eyes struggling to adjust after so long in darkness. Shapes swam before him, indistinct and shadowy.

As his vision slowly cleared, Rocco realized why he was having such difficulty. The space around them was barely lit, with only a few dim lights casting more shadows than illumination. He squinted, trying to make sense of their surroundings, all the while wondering: What is this place, and why have we been brought here?

Suddenly, Red materialized before them, but this wasn't the composed, well-groomed figure Rocco remembered. Gone was the air of casual refinement. In its place stood a man transformed – eyes gleaming with a feverish light, lips twisted into a smile that made Rocco's blood run cold.

"Welcome," Red's voice sliced through the tense silence, "to the Phantom Theatre." He spread his arms wide, as if presenting a grand stage. "You've all been invited to participate in a game. Consider yourselves the players, each with a task to complete."

Rocco's mind reeled. A game? This felt far too sinister for mere play.

Red continued, his tone unnervingly cheerful. "Successfully finish your assigned task, and you'll receive not only your promised payment but a bonus – one million dollars." He paused, letting the astronomical sum sink in. "There's no time limit. Take as long as you need... but be warned." His grin widened, showing too many teeth. "The killer will do everything in their power to stop you."

A collective gasp rippled through the group. Sarah's voice quavered as she spoke up. "Killer? You can't mean... surely that's just a term, right? Not an actual..."

Red's laughter cut her off, sharp and mirthless. "Oh, but they are, my dear." His eyes glittered in the dim light. "Trust me on this – they most certainly are."