Chapter 10: Smuggler’s Run

The glow of scattered lanterns reflected off damp stone, casting long, flickering shadows. The air smelled of mildew and old wood, a space forgotten by most, except those who knew where to look.

Lorne had been with the Gun Runners for a few months now, long enough to know when to keep his mouth shut. Tonight felt like one of those nights.

He stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching as a group of smugglers worked to unload a crate from a boat that had slipped in from the lower tunnels. The cargo was smaller than he expected.

Doesn't look like much, Lorne thought, but he didn't say it. Not yet.

One of the higher-ups, a lieutenant by the name of Vetch, oversaw the process. A sharp-eyed rat, Vetch had a permanent smirk that made everything he said sound like a private joke.

The crate hit the ground with a dull thud. Vetch stepped forward, prying it open with a rusted crowbar. Inside, nestled in layers of straw, sat several rows of small glass vials. The liquid inside shimmered a faint blue under the lantern light.

Lorne frowned. A blue liquid? He'd seen plenty of stims, combat drugs, painkillers during his time with the UNSC. None of them looked like this.

Lorne raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"This the stuff?" he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

Vetch smirked, plucking one of the vials from the crate and rolling it between his fingers. "Oh, it's the stuff, alright. Few drops of this, and a man like you forgets how to stand." He gave Lorne a sideways glance. "Supposed to do something else too."

Lorne frowned. "Like what?"

Vetch shrugged. "I don't ask questions." He tossed the vial back into the crate with an audible *clink*. "But whatever it is, Nikodemus' people seem real keen on keeping it moving."

Lorne stiffened at the name.

Everyone in the Gun Runners knew Nikodemus was involved, but no one ever spoke about him outright. It was like an unspoken rule, say his name too often, and it might be the last thing you say.

Still, curiosity got the better of him. "And we just take it? No questions?"

Vetch's smirk widened, but there was no humor in it. "You wanna march up to Nikodemus' door and ask what he's cookin' up? Be my guest."

Lorne looked away. He wasn't stupid. Whatever this stuff did, it wasn't just another sedative they had plenty down here already. But he also knew better than to push further.

The rest of the smugglers worked quickly, transferring the vials into padded cases, readying them for transport. Lorne didn't help. He just watched, uneasy.

Vetch leaned against a stack of crates, lighting a thin roll, some type of dried mixture, herb between his teeth. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "You're awful quiet tonight, Lorne."

Lorne didn't answer right away. His eyes lingered on the vials. "You ever wonder why we get this stuff in batches?"

Vetch chuckled. "Because it sells?"

Lorne shook his head. "Nah. This isn't just getting passed around to buyers. This is going somewhere specific."

Vetch exhaled through his nose. "Like I said. We don't ask."

Lorne stared at the crate again. The words slipped out before he could stop them. "What if this stuff hurts people?"

Vetch's smirk faltered. Just slightly.

"Then that ain't our problem." He straightened, dusting off his coat. "We do what we're paid to do. Take the shipments, move them where they need to go, don't ask stupid questions."

Lorne wasn't convinced, but he nodded anyway.

The work continued. Smugglers came and went, taking the padded cases into the tunnels, ready to distribute the cargo across Rat City.

Lorne felt the weight in his gut. Something was wrong.

He was a thief, a smuggler, he had stolen food, weapons, tech. But this? This was different. Whatever this drug was, it was meant to do more than take people down.

And yet, he said nothing.

He watched as the last crate was sealed, as Vetch waved the last of the workers away. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach for his knife. He didn't know why. Maybe just to feel something solid.

Then, footsteps.

Lorne didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

Roe.

The Gun Runner stepped in like he owned the place, because of course, in a way, he did. He didn't look at Lorne. Didn't look at Vetch. He only looked at the cargo. His time was money and he wasn't going to waste it staring at some cheap goons.

He reached out, running a claw along the edge of one of the cases before giving a small, satisfied nod.

Vetch straightened. "We move out tomorrow?"

Roe finally turned, his gaze settling on Vetch for the briefest moment. Then, without a word, he nodded once.

Vetch exhaled, tension leaving his shoulders. "Alright. We'll keep it quiet."

Roe didn't acknowledge him further. He stepped back, disappearing as quickly as he had arrived.

Lorne let out a slow breath, watching as the shadows swallowed Roe whole.

His gut told him he'd made a mistake joining the Gun Runners.

But it was too late for second thoughts now and besides, he needed the money.

Still, his thoughts lingered on Roe. The Rat, if you could even call him that anymore, had a presence that unsettled even the hardest criminals. Lorne had seen men, dangerous men, piloting large bipedal tanks kill entire platoons of men, men who laughed in the face of death. But Roe was something different. There was no bravado with him, no excess motion, no wasted words. Just a cold, calculating efficiency that spoke louder than any threat. He had heard that Roe had killed men just because someone, the wrong someone, asked where a shipment was going.

Now? No one questioned Roe, not because of loyalty, but because they all understood he wouldn't hesitate.

And that, more than anything, made him more dangerous than all of them combined.

Fast forward and a month had passed since Lorne first started questioning his place in the Gun Runners. It hadn't taken long for him to learn that questions led to dead ends, or worse. So he had stopped asking them.

But tonight, the air felt wrong.

The smuggling operation was running as it always did, darkened tunnels, whispered orders, men hauling crates under dim lantern light. But the usual rhythm was off. The others moved faster, their glances sharper, their hands twitching more than usual. Lorne noticed the tension immediately.

Vetch, normally the loudest of them all, was uncharacteristically quiet.

He was rushing the men, urging them to unload faster. His tail flicked erratically, the cigarette between his teeth burning low. He had barely spoken since they arrived, and when he did, it was curt, clipped.

Lorne narrowed his eyes. "What's the hurry?"

Vetch didn't look at him. He exhaled a lungful of smoke, tapping ash onto the damp stone floor. "Got something I gotta handle after this. Wanna be gone before things get slow."

Lorne frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Vetch just kept moving. Kept working. Kept smoking.

Lorne had a sneaking suspicion that Vetch was trying to run from something and not to something. Lorne put it together ehen the thing Vetch had been trying to avoid happened.

Roe arrived Earlier than normal by a solid half an hour.

The Gun Runner leader strolled in flanked by his two personal guards, their presence shifting the air immediately. Roe was more present than usual this time, not just observing from the shadows, but watching each man, making eye contact, assessing. His boots echoed with slow, deliberate steps as he entered the dockside storage.

Vetch stiffened when Roe's gaze landed on him.

The smuggler barely had time to flick his cigarette to the ground before Roe gave him a lazy grin. "I could smell you from a mile away, ya know?" He gestured toward the discarded cigarette. "Those smokes'll kill ya, Vetch."

Vetch forced a chuckle, but there was no humor in it.

Roe snapped his fingers. His guards moved instantly, stepping toward the nearest crates and prying them open. Checking. Counting.

The silence stretched as the men worked. Then, one of them stopped.

A low voice cut through the room. "Boss."

Roe barely turned his head. "Yeah?"

The guard straightened. "There's one missing."

The air stopped moving.

Roe's expression didn't change, but something about him did. The sewers felt smaller. Colder.

He let out a slow breath, almost disappointed. Then, with the same ease as a man reaching for a pocket watch, he pulled his sidearm from his coat.

Lorne barely had time to process before Roe aimed it between him and Vetch.

"Okay," Roe said, tone light, almost amused. "Which one of you decided to cross ol' Roe?"

The silence was suffocating. The muzzle of the gun didn't waver.

Vetch didn't look at Lorne. Didn't glance at the other smugglers. He just sighed.

"…It was me," Vetch admitted. "Leave him out of it."

Lorne felt something sink in his chest.

Roe didn't react right away. He just twirled the pistol in his hand, flipping it deftly, until the grip was facing Lorne.

"Looks like there's gonna be a job opening soon," Roe said casually, holding the weapon out. "Sign. The. Contract." Lorne knew that the words carried so much more than they meant.

Lorne's hands clenched. He felt everyone's eyes on him. He didn't want to take it. But he knew what would happen if he didn't.

His fingers trembled as he reached out and wrapped them around the grip. It felt heavier than it should.

Vetch exhaled, his usual smirk flickering back onto his face, even now. "Sorry I got ya into this, kid."

Roe snapped his fingers. His men raised their own guns at Lorne. "Stop stalling."

Lorne's throat went dry. No way out. No more time.

He pulled the trigger.

BANG.

He winced, squeezing his eyes shut as the shot echoed through the cavern. When he opened them, Vetch was already slumping to the floor.

The smirk was still there, even as the life faded from his eyes.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Roe didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just watched.

Then, without a word, he took the gun from Lorne's hands, wiped the barrel clean, and holstered it.

He turned, motioning to his men. "Get rid of him."

The guards grabbed Vetch's body without hesitation, dragging him toward one of the deeper tunnels. Roe dusted off his coat and shot Lorne an easy grin.

"Can't have any blood on me product, know what I mean?"

Lorne didn't respond. He felt like his own blood had turned to ice.

Roe clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome to the family, Lorne."

Lorne swallowed hard. He had made a mistake.

But it was too late for second thoughts.

He was in it for the long haul, this was his life now.