Roles

"What?" Myth asked, genuinely astonished.

"You heard me right," Riff replied. "Five days a week. Monday and Tuesday are off."

Myth blinked. "When exactly would I be working?"

"From six to ten," Riff said. "After that, I'll take over."

Myth looked around. "Seriously? Do you even get customers?"

Riff shrugged. "It's 6:30. Of course it's dead. Come back in an hour."

"I don't know how to make drinks," Myth pointed out.

"You'll learn in no time." Riff said it casually, like he was talking about learning to walk.

"Alright, let me talk to my group."

"Take your time," Riff said, already wiping down another glass.

Myth returned to the table, sliding into the seat next to Ashley. He lowered his voice and explained everything.

The idea wasn't bad—working the bar could be the perfect cover for the information trade. He'd have access to loose tongues, half-drunken confessions, rumors floating in the backwash of cheap liquor.

But there were issues.

He'd have a fixed location. A routine. That made him predictable.

Worse still… it meant giving up anonymity. And anonymity was his best weapon right now.

"So what do you guys think?" Myth asked, scanning their faces.

"I think you should take it," Ashley said. "If our plan is to deal in information, this is the perfect setup."

"Let's not jump in just yet," Walker cut in. "Information trade sounds promising, but we should discuss all our options before committing."

Myth nodded. "Fair. I've got a few ideas: hitman services, smuggling, joining a local gang, or getting involved in drug deals." He said it in a calm, polite tone—like he was reading items off a grocery list.

Ashley raised an eyebrow. "Hitman services, gang stuff, and drug deals are off the table. Smuggling has its risks, but I still think the info trade gives us the best mix of control and opportunity."

"The reason I'm pushing for information trade," Myth added, "is because it puts us in the perfect spot to exploit weaknesses. We could blackmail corrupt officials, spread false leads, manipulate outcomes. There are endless ways to turn it into money—or leverage."

Walker leaned forward. "What if we ran an illegal detective agency? We would get the right intel, we could solve cases others can't—even stuff the authorities won't touch."

Myth considered it. "Not bad, but that puts us in a passive role. We'd have to wait for problems to come to us. To get serious cases, we'd need reputation—and that means going public, which is dangerous."

The group sat in thoughtful silence.

"I'm fine with the information trade plan," Walker finally said.

Ashley nodded in agreement.

Myth turned to Victor, who gave a short, firm nod.

"I'm okay with it," Sira added softly.

Myth looked at her. "Sira, will you work here with me? As a waitress? I'll ask Riff to hire you."

Her eyes flicked to his for a split second before darting away.

'Myth, please... don't speak like that—like a stranger...'

"...Ahh... yes. I'm okay with that," she replied, stammering slightly.

Then Myth turned to Victor. "Can you find work in a science lab or something similar? If we ever plan to escape, we'll need eyes on that front."

Victor nodded again without hesitation.

"Ashley, Mr. Walker," Myth continued, "I want you both to handle the information gathering. I'll guide you on what to look for and how to filter the noise."

Walker gave a brief nod. Ashley remained silent but didn't object.

"Alright then," Ashley said. "Let's get Victor's girlfriend and get out of the undercity. "

Myth smirked. "Now you look beautiful with that confident face."

Ashley shot him a glare that said clearly: No, I haven't forgiven you yet.

Myth cleared his throat and quickly pivoted. "Okay, I'll talk to Riff—ask about hiring Sira, and maybe get more details on the arena fights. We still need cash for food and lodging."

But even as he spoke, a sly glint passed through his eyes.

Well, Myth wasn't going to let Walker walk free.

Sira didn't have much say in group decisions—she followed more than she led. Victor was firmly on Myth's side. Ashley, despite her sharp tongue and lingering resentment, usually leaned toward him when it mattered.

The only real variable was Walker.

And Myth knew he'd have to handle him carefully. Manipulate him—slowly, subtly. Get him to believe the group's direction was his idea.

Myth made his way back to the bar counter, hands tucked in his pockets.

"So, Riff," he said casually, "why exactly do you want to hire me? If it's cheap labor you're after, the undercity's overflowing with options."

Riff ignored the question, reaching for a bottle.

"Here—I'll show you how to make a Rustbrew. One of my specialties."

Myth blinked.

'This again… Does this man even know how to hold a conversation?'

"You really are getting old, Riff. I mean, age isn't just a number"

The man seated next to Myth—broad-shouldered, with a scar across his jaw—laughed suddenly and loudly.

Myth flinched.

'What the hell? That wasn't even funny…'

Riff jerked a thumb toward the man.

"That's Togan. He runs the kitchen. Cooks up the stuff we call food."

'Lunatics. I'm surrounded by lunatics.'

"Right…" Myth leaned in, trying to regain control. "About the question, though?"

Riff finished pouring the drink and finally looked up.

"You're good-looking. The kind of face that will make women choose this bar. You've got a sarcastic mouth for drunk people and a presence. I'll get more outta you than I pay. Simple math."

Myth gave a crooked smile. " only for drunk people..."

Then he leaned closer, his tone turning smoother.

"Thing is, if I'm gonna draw in money, you'll need more than just me behind the bar. Someone's gotta keep the floor clean and the tables turning. Might I suggest my friend? She's bright, respectful, brings a kind of calm to a place. People feel better around her."

Riff raised an eyebrow. "She also got the same disorder you do?"

Myth sighed. "Yeah. We're siblings." He didn't even blink.

"I don't pay waiters what I pay bartenders. 300 sols a week, that's the rate."

Myth nodded. "Fair. Can you make it 400?"

"Nope."

"Alright. Then here's the deal: we start tomorrow. For this week, we want daily pay. End of each shift."

Myth leaned forward slightly, voice dipping.

"Now… the information on the arenas. Please."

Riff raised an eyebrow, then slowly dried a glass as he spoke.

"If you're looking to win with low risks—and little money—head to the Trencher District. There's a fighting pit behind an abandoned tram track. Locals bet small, and the organizers don't care much who wins."

He set the glass down.

"But if you want the real stuff—high risk, high reward—go to the edge of Marrow Street in the Emberend District. No rules. No referees. You either win, or you bleed out under a flickering light."

He poured himself a shot of something amber, then added.

"There's a third one near inner Lowden, street 8. Corrupt as hell. Fights are fixed. If you don't play along, they might come after you off the ring. Cheaters run it."

Myth absorbed the details with a slow nod.

Riff didn't sugarcoat things. Good.

It was time... that they went to the arenas.