The Price of Freedom

Jason knew dealing with Arlo was like playing chess against a man who had already seen the end of the game. One wrong move, and he wouldn't just lose—he'd disappear.

But he had no choice.

He adjusted his collar as he sat across from Arlo in the dimly lit back room of the Fox Den, a bar infamous for hosting deals between criminals, rebels, and those desperate enough to bargain with them. The stench of stale beer and cigar smoke clung to the air like a warning.

Arlo leaned back, his fingers steepled. "Reagan's planning something big, you say? That's vague."

Jason nodded, his voice steady. "I can give you details, but I need safe passage out of Lowgrave first."

Arlo's smirk was slow, deliberate. "You don't negotiate with men like me, Jason. You offer, and we decide if it's worth it."

Jason swallowed his frustration. "Reagan's expecting a shipment next week. Not just weapons. Something else. Something big."

That got Arlo's attention. The man's smirk twitched, his gaze sharpening. That meant something.

Jason pressed on. "I don't know what it is yet, but I know where it's coming from. The docks. Pier 9."

Arlo drummed his fingers on the table. The tension in the room thickened.

"You better pray this information is real, kid. Because if it's not, I'll personally deliver you to Reagan myself."

Jason exhaled. Step one—survive this meeting. Step two—figure out if he could actually trust Arlo.

---

Back in the Dark Alleys of Lowgrave

Jason left the Fox Den with a weight on his shoulders. His deal with Arlo was fragile. If he didn't deliver, he'd be dead by sunrise.

The city stretched before him, its neon lights flickering against the damp pavement. Lowgrave had always been a place where men climbed over others to survive. Tonight, Jason felt like the one being stepped on.

He moved fast, weaving through the alleyways, taking turns at random to shake off any potential followers. But something gnawed at the back of his mind.

A presence. A shadow too persistent.

Jason's instincts screamed.

He barely dodged as a knife slashed through the air where his throat had been.

Spinning around, he caught a glimpse of his attacker—a masked figure dressed in black, fast and precise.

Jason barely had time to react before the second attack came. The blade swiped again, aiming for his ribs. He twisted, feeling the cold steel graze his jacket, tearing through the fabric.

Too fast. Too precise.

His attacker was a professional.

Jason stumbled back, heart pounding. Reagan already knew.

And he wasn't letting Jason go that easily.

The assassin lunged again, but Jason was ready this time. He ducked, grabbing a loose brick from the ground and hurling it. The figure dodged, but Jason used the distraction to sprint down the alley.

Footsteps thundered behind him.

Jason's breath burned in his chest as he ran, his mind racing. He needed to lose them—fast.

He spotted a broken fire escape ladder just ahead. Without thinking, he leaped, fingers catching the rusted metal as he scrambled up. The assassin was right behind him, reaching for his ankle—

Jason kicked out hard.

The figure lost balance, slipping back onto the pavement below. But Jason didn't wait to see if they recovered. He climbed higher, disappearing onto the rooftops.

From the edge of the building, he peered down. The assassin was gone. Melted into the darkness like they were never there.

Jason exhaled shakily, rubbing his face. He'd bought himself time. But Reagan wasn't just going to let him walk away.

Jason had taken his first step toward freedom.

Now, he just had to survive it.

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