CHAPTER 04-SCAPEGOAT

It's been over twenty-four hours since the death of Jerman Kenner. His death was assured by the local police, and news about his death was already booming all over the country. Jerman Kenner, the best demonologist the world has ever seen, brutally maimed in a random alleyway of a Shack. The circumstances of the murder were totally senseless, and the police simply didn't know where to go. But Jerman sure knew.

On one of Jerman's many hidden underground stashes, a replica of his body was hidden, peacefully resting in a cryogenic chamber. A countdown could be seen on one of its many screens. Ten…Nine…Eight…

As soon as the count hit seven, the body was already thawing. When it reached zero, the naked body of the man was immediately pushed out of the chamber, with the water resulting from the thawing process almost drowning him, making him cough uncontrollably.

"YOU…BITCH!"

He exclaimed, all by himself, as he shivered in cold, walking towards his signature coat, getting himself dressed. As he did, he reached for one of his phones in the pocket of the coat, seeing the news of his own death.

"Damn it. I should've known…I set the timer way too high, I should've been back twenty-one hours ago. Everyone thinks I'm dead now."

He thought to himself, only to be surprised by another figure in the corner of his vision, confronting him with his own thought.

"And how come you're not?"

Jerman let out a brief shout, as he reached for his revolver on his belt, pointing at whoever said that.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"

Jerman said, now taking a look at the figure. A tall, pale, red-headed man with shiny green eyes. He had a rather slim build, but seemed awfully strong, with defined arms and legs. He was wearing a leather jacket, jeans pants, black boots and a purple scarf that nearly muffled his voice. He stared at Jerman, with a totally neutral expression.

"Are you going to lower that gun so we can talk?"

Jerman pressed firmly on the metallic frame of the firearm.

"And are you going to explain how the fuck you got here?"

The pale man took a step forward.

"NOT A SINGLE STEP MORE! I'LL TEAR A HOLE IN YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!"

Jerman threatened. The man immediately rushed Jerman, ducking under his line of sight, making him miss the shot, grazing his forehead. As he rose, he struck Jerman's abdomen with a knee strike, strong enough to make him growl out in pain, dropping his revolver. Jerman was then surprised by another strike, a spinning heel kick, hitting him directly in the face, knocking him to the ground, barely conscious. His attacker stepped on his throat with his boot, pressing his weight against Jerman's throat, making him squirm in agony.

"You grazed me. If I wasn't fast enough, you would've blasted my head open."

The man said, wiping away the blood from his forehead.

"Now we talk."

Jerman held the man's feet, trying his best to push it out of his throat.

"WHO ARE YOU…?"

The man stared back at Jerman.

"My name is Sawyer. And you don't need any introduction, Jerman Kenner. Or Kerman Jenner?"

Jerman's eyes popped out in surprise.

"How…How do you know that?!"

Sawyer smirked, slightly proud of himself.

"Basic spell casting. From the moment you touched that phone, you activated my remote synapses connection spell. That's how I read your thoughts…Even the weirdest ones. So, let's see. Kerman Jenner, born in Houston, Texas. Son of a waitress and a USMC marine. Your father got killed by a hellspawn, so you joined a human supremacist group. You went to jail, got your doctorate with the knowledge you got from when you were there and you graduated in demonology on a trip to Copenhagen. Since then, your obsession with demons and hellspawns awarded you the title of best demonologist to ever live. Also, you changed your name to Jerman Kenner so people didn't find out about your supremacist past. Is Jerman even a real name?"

Jerman grunted, slapping the man's foot.

"Great exposition, asshole. Too bad you're talking about MY life, so I already know all of that. Are you trying to surprise me or what?!"

Sawyer took his foot off of Jerman's throat, as he gasped for air, gradually recovering himself.

"You were brought back to life because you made a pact with my patron, Paimon. Every time you die, he resurrects you at the cost of one tenth of your soul. With this use, you already owe us another tenth. I came here to collect. I was just reminding you that you can't hide anything from us."

Jerman stood up, spitting on the ground.

"You don't seem like a Burden."

Sawyer shrugged.

"Because I'm not. I'm not interested in your sins. You promised lord Paimon a piece of your soul, so you can become his slave when you go to Hell. I'm just here to assure everything goes as planned."

Jerman walks up to Sawyer, pointing his finger at his face.

"And how do you intend to do that?"

Sawyer grabbed Jerman's face.

"Selfless Tribute."

As Sawyer exclaimed the technique's name, a huge flux of Heriata was ripped from his body, making him fall to his knees in pain. The Heriata coming out of his face molded itself as a Voodoo doll, containing his most key characteristics, such as a little hat, a little coat and a little revolver on his waist.

"Now, your soul is in my hands. Your offer to Paimon shall be brought to truth. Until then, you stay put. You should have some of your own troubles to assess. Until then, you just behave like the asset you are."

Sawyer walked away with the doll, as Jerman screamed relentlessly.

"Sorry about the pain. Kiss of a Vitch."

He smirked, vanishing from sight.

On the southern part of town, an internal barbecue of the police force was taking place at the backyard of the new chief of police, Patrick Mannard. About fifty people, ranging from active officers to officers' relatives were present, all sitting at tables next to the pool. The host of the party, Patrick, was near the grill, grilling some burgers and sausages while excitedly sipping a beer. As the bell rang, Patrick's daughter, Elissa, hopped humming towards the door, curious to see the new guest. Tannis held onto a small yellow purse.

"Hi, Elissa!"

The most important guest, arriving quite late, had just made herself present. A short, ebony-skinned woman with long braided hair, wearing a white tank top and grey laced shorts, along with some basic shoes, probably the first pair she found while in a hurry. That was Tannis Hamilton, deputy chief of the 18th precinct of Las Vegas, as well as a close friend of Patrick. Elissa immediately recognized Tannis, rushing towards her in a caring and tender hug, with Tannis lifting the young girl off of the ground.

"AUNTIE TANNIS!"

Elissa exclaimed, as Tannis hugged her back, smiling.

"Hi, baby! Oh, you look so cute in that swimsuit! Did your mom give it to you?"

Elissa blushed, looking at Tannis, her eyes still glimmering with joy.

"Yes! She got it for me so I could swim in the grown-ups pool!"

Tannis put Elissa down, patting her head.

"Well, Elissa, why don't you go show your swimsuit to your friends? I have to speak to your dad really quick and then I'll play with you, okay?"

Elissa agreed, shaking her head.

"Okie!"

She left, smiling. Tannis made her way to Patrick, standing beside him at the grill.

"Hey, dipshit."

She called him, in a playful but yet offensive tone, a trait of their friendship. Patrick looked back at her, giggling.

"Sup, noodle head? Still using cheap deodorant to hide your bad smell?"

They both cackled, as Tannis playfully slapped him on the shoulder.

"Fuck you, Patrick. I don't smell bad, that was just a rumor. Try smelling like roses after a twelve hour shift inside a cramped car with leather seats that heat up more than that shitty truck you've been driving since we met."

Patrick laughed, flipping burgers.

"Well, who are you to say something about my truck? Back in my day, people used to call you Traffic Tannis. Hell, you managed to hit a bike once!"

She giggled softly, as she took out the gift from her purse.

"Here. I got this for you."

Patrick laid down his spatulas, holding the object hidden by gift wrap. He undid it, revealing a tactical holster.

"Oh, T? Really?"

He questioned, laughing, reminiscing about the past.

"You should really use a holster, old man. You could end up shooting yourself anytime soon."

He hugged Tannis, a playful way to show gratitude for the jokeful but meaningful gift.

"Back in my day, we used to go full Rambo. Pistol in our underwear and a M60 in our hands!"

He playfully replicated machinegun sounds with his mouth, as both he and Tannis mindlessly joked about their extensive careers at the Las Vegas Police Department. But, deep down, Tannis knew that she had to make a powerful question regarding the latest crime.

"So, P. They say you were frontline on Jerman's murder case, newspaper cover and all."

She shrugged, picking his spatulas up again.

"You bet."

Tannis scratched her head, still trying to find a way to elaborate without killing the mood.

"You and your guys confirmed his death, but couldn't find the perp, right?"

Patrick looked at Tannis, confused.

"Yeah, so? Happens all the time. Guy was a nutjob, he must have had someone gunning for him for years."

Tannis tried to cover up her true intentions with a cough, trying to distract him from the topic for at least a second.

"He was killed in front of a Shack that had cameras all over, not to mention the other businesses. Didn't you guys check the cameras?"

He munched on a piece of a sausage.

"Look, we did everything by the book, alright? Don't worry about it. I'm getting promoted for my years of service, not because of this pointless John Lennon shit."

Tannis approached Patrick, whispering.

"P, I need you to be very honest with me now. Were you bribed?"

Patrick scoffed.

"Really, T? Out of all people, you think I could do some shit like that? The fuck I need bribes for? I got a family, a big house, a truck…I'm not greedy OR stupid. You're mistaking me for those assholes at the eleventh precinct."

He took another bite of a sausage, leaning into Tannis playfully. She smiled, a little bit calmer.

"You know, P…It's just that…A man important as Kenner was maimed in a public street and no one saw anything? No witnesses, no cameras, no bypassers? This all just seems very odd. Do you think that the precinct is trying to hide something?"

He looked around, trying to see if they weren't being eavesdropped.

"I don't know. I just know that this case is over. I'm retiring soon, and I want YOU in my place. Now, could you shut up and eat like a normal person for once?"

He laughed, breaking up the contact, now talking in a normal volume. Tannis smiled, fiddling with her bag.

"I don't want any of that processed crap. I'm dieting."

He shrugged, biting into a cheeseburger slider.

"Suit yourself. Hey, could you check on Elissa for me? I need to get these sliders ready fast or those kids are going to starve!"

He laughed, opening the fridge, looking for the ingredients. Tannis agreed, shaking her head, walking towards the pool, looking at Elissa as she swam. Something, however, seemed off. The door was open without a bell being rung, and the entire party could be seen freezing to glance at a new arrival. Nine men in full tactical gear walked towards the party, aiming their weapons at the guests.

"OUT OF THE POOL, NOW! HIT THE GROUND!"

They ordered, aiming their rifles at anyone in sight, even the children. As panic spread, the adults quickly embraced their sons and daughters, going to the ground with them, pressing their abdomens towards the grass. Tannis quickly did the same, trying her best to glance at their uniforms, trying to identify any sort of badge. When they were all rendered defenseless, Tannis saw a badge containing a horned skull with two bullets piercing it, along the acronym "OPACT". Tannis's eyes widened in response, as she recognized that symbol and acronym. OPACT, the Operation Paranormal Activity Counter Taskforce, consisted of an elite military joint organization commanded by the Antichrist himself. OPACT was only deployed when the regular police or military couldn't handle cases related to hellspawns, Vitches or any form of paranormal activities. They were known for having many Vitches, hellspawns and even Burdens among their ranks, acting as the Antichrist's personal hunting dogs, capable of neutralizing any threat. The reason as to why they were there still fogged Tannis's mind. Patrick was seen being dragged through the grass, placed in front of the pool. Elissa screamed, trying to get out of her mother's lap.

"DAD! DAD!"

She exclaimed, trying harder and harder, as her mother held her with all her strength. Another one of Patrick's guests, Harold Smith, was dragged across the grass and placed side to side with Patrick. One of the soldiers reached for the microphone on his tactical helmet.

"Sir, we got the targets."

A few seconds after the confirmation the most imposing figure of them all showed up. A man with long, black hair, wearing a formal and tidy suit walked through the grass. His face, delicate and groomed, was almost like a dark teaser to his real personality. That delicate, refined man was Duncan Tarquin, commander of the OPACT, and a known torturer. He carefully walked towards Patrick and Harold, both entirely petrified in fear. Duncan placed his hands on their shoulders, announcing with a playful voice:

"Hello! Pardon me for the inconvenience. I gotta say, the American cuisine IS quite disgusting…I could smell the grease from these sausages three blocks away! Anyway…As you might've known, Jerman Kenner was killed; BRUTALLY killed…And NO ONE SAW ANYTHING! Now, I ask you all…Are the people of Las Vegas blind, Mr. Harold and Mr. Patrick?"

Harold stammered, mustering up the strength to answer.

"N-No, sir."

"Good job, Mr. Harold. Now, tell me. If he was killed on a public venue, full of cameras and eye witnesses, how come no one saw anything?"

Harold stammered even more.

"W-W-W-We tried everything, sir. We interrogated the Vitch that owned the Shack. We didn't find anything."

Duncan laughed to himself.

"I know you did. You two were salivating all over her like two desperate dogs."

Harold and Patrick glanced at each other, both almost crying out of terror. Patrick looked up, trying to beg.

"W-What d-do you mean, sir…?"

Duncan slapped them both playfully.

"Do you boys think I don't know how a Vitch functions? She seduced both of you. Actually, she didn't even need a spell for it. All she had to do was create the vague possibility that either of you would have the chance to take a little bit out of her rather spent intimate parts. Seriously? It's all over the internet. You could've just searched for it, I've seen it myself!"

He cackled profusely to himself. He seemed to be relishing in the terror of the two officers. As the both of them stood quiet, petrified, he playfully shook his head, calming down from his laughter.

"Chill, boys. I'm not hurting you two. I just want you to tell me the truth. Then, we'll pretend none of this ever happened. Let's start with you, Mr. Harold!"

Harold swallowed saliva, trembling in fear.

"I-I'm sorry…Sir. I couldn't…Keep myself on the mission. Chief Patrick is innocent. I'm all to blame. You can punish me as you see fit."

Duncan then looked at Patrick, waiting.

"I…Failed too. I, as his superior, should've intervened when I saw what was going down. I'm also married…Happily married to the love of my life. No other woman should have that sort of power over me, let alone when I'm working. I apologize to you and to my family."

Duncan gave several small claps.

"See? It's not that hard."

As Harold and Patrick sighed in relief, Duncan quickly drew his pistol from his suit, shooting Harold in the head. Harold's lifeless, gory body fell in the pool, painting the water red as he floated. His head was blown side to side, with his brains gushing from a giant exit hole on the opposite side of his skull. All of the guests screamed, including Patrick himself, that was now in tears. Tannis was totally shook, possessed by fear. Elissa and her mother were sobbing intensively, shaking, fearing what would happen to Patrick.

Duncan pushed the piping hot pistol barrel against Patrick's forehead, making him growl in pain from the burn. Duncan laughed non-stop, glancing at Patrick's terrified eyes.

"SEE? THAT'S THE FUCKING PROBLEM. YOU TWO CAN'T DO A SIMPLE TASK. A SIMPLE FUCKING TASK! NOW, THE BURDEN THAT THE VITCH WAS PROTECTING RAN AWAY AND WE DON'T HAVE ANY EVIDENCE AGAINST HER. BUT, GUESS WHAT? FUCK YOU. I'M NOT ACTING BASED ON EVIDENCE. SINCE YOU CAN'T COMPLETE A SIMPLE FUCKING TASK, I'LL DO IT FOR YOU."

Duncan shot Patrick in the chest two times. He was fuming with anger, his lips bleeding as he bit through them with each phrase. With Patrick still agonizing on the ground, he signaled to his men.

"Take the brat and his bitch. Don't hurt them, just get them out of my face."

Elissa and her mother were already voiceless from so much screaming. They were easily overpowered by two OPACT soldiers, that took them outside of the house. Duncan went to Tannis, kneeling near her, with a sickening grin.

"Hellloooooooo? Tannisssss?"

He provoked her, poking her skin with the hot barrel from his pistol, making her recoil with each poke. She responded, holding her tears of anger back.

"Y-Y-Yes, sir."

Duncan let out another small clap.

"Nice. I'm promoting you to chief of police."

Tannis's eyes widened.

"W-What…? What are you doing? WHY DID YOU KILL PATRICK?!"

Duncan shushed Tannis, leaning near her face.

"Listen here, you fucking slut. I'm being nice to you. Giving you the opportunity to replace two useless retards who missed the opportunity of my life because of some pussy. So, here's what you're going to do. You and all of the dumbasses here will go home, forget all about it. Harold and Patrick were killed by a Burden. That's what the media will say. After that, you'll sit your ass on the chief's chair and bring me the new Burden and the Vitch that killed Kenner. Do I make myself clear?"

Tannis was fainting for air. She clenched her fists in anger, letting out a few sobs as she saw Patrick clinging to his life.

"Do you think I'm afraid to die? Go on."

Duncan laughed, forcing Tannis's face upwards.

"I know you don't. But little Elissa sure does. What about her mommy?"

Tannis's eyes widened more, letting out another stream of tears.

"You sick bastard…"

Duncan let go of Tannis.

"Thank you very much, chief Tannis! As of today, you are now in charge of the Las Vegas Police Department. I sure hope you don't disappoint! AS OF TODAY, THE BURDEN AND THE VITCH ARE NOW TOP STATE PRIORITY. I WANT EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU FUCKERS LOOKING FOR THEM. Enjoy the barbecue!"

Duncan signaled to his men, heading out. Tannis and the other guests rushed to Patrick.

"Patrick? PATRICK!"

Tannis shook him; No response. He was long gone. Tannis rested his head on her lap, sobbing, bathing his face with her tears. She let out a bestial scream, that echoed through the neighbourhood.

On the parallel, eastern side of town, roamed a half-dead Elias, limping through the streets and alleyways. His horned head, now apparent, couldn't ever be hidden. Constantly, its horns grew larger and sharper, making him more and more into a beast. Harper gave him an expectancy of twelve hours to collect thirty sins, and twenty-four hours had already passed. He couldn't bring himself to kill another person for his sins. He cried and cried, screaming to himself as he slapped his caprine skull repeatedly.

"USELESS! USELESS! YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT!"

He fell in an alleyway, staring at himself through a reflection on his cellphone. His entire head was now transformed, and he could barely see an inch in front of him, or barely lift his neck.

"W-What's going on…?"

A woman entered the alley, staring at Elias, taking a step back.

"W-What…"

She could barely believe her eyes. Elias's eyes, now entirely occluded by the caprine skull, made it seem that there was nothing but a hollow bone helmet staring at her with a hungry gaze. Elias stood up, reaching out to her.

"H-Hey! I-I'm not a Burden!"

That was what he tried to say. Nothing came out of his mouth. As he stared at the woman, he could sense her sins, almost instinctively, as if their very souls were bonded to one another. Adultery, five sins. Lust, one sin. Six sins were what emanated from her. Six delicious sins, that made Elias's body shiver with anticipation. The sinful energy emanated from her body like an invitation, and Elias could barely control himself. Totally out of his mind, Elias rushed at the woman, running with his feet and his hands like a fierce animal. She tried to run, but was easily reached by Elias, that tackled her down and dragged her to the alleyway. He covered her mouth, feeling the sinful energy emanating from her. He was salivating, almost drowning in his own fluid, to the point where he was breathing heavily and drooling.

"Sin…I want your sin…"

He thought to himself…Or whatever was controlling his thoughts.

"NO…NO! PLEASE, DON'T!"

She cried, trying to break away from Elias, with not a single hint of success. Elias used his nails, now turned into sharp blade-like tendrils to cut the shirt she was wearing, stripping her, showing her bra. Elias ran his fingers through her, feeling her skin, drooling and growling, before ripping off her bra, staring at her naked upper body. He turned his head, hallucinating from the sin that emanated from the woman, as she cried more and more. He snuggled next to her neck, preparing to bite her.

"You're mine. All mine. Your sin…Merge them with my soul!"

He once again thought to himself, hearing a deafening laugh inside his mind. When he finally came to, however, he saw a half-naked woman, crying her eyes out, with his front teeth sinking into her neck, leaving a small trail of blood. He quickly pulled away, holding his own caprine head, punching it.

"LET GO OF ME! LET GO OF ME!"

He tried to speak once again, with no success. The woman ran away, covering herself. Elias cocooned himself on the floor, screaming internally in pain as his body became thinner and thinner, to the point where it was possible to see all of his bones. His skin was now decrepit, with a mummy-like texture and appearance. He stood up, looking at himself, crying behind the caprine mask.

"Why…Why is this happening?!"

He punched a nearby wall, destroying it with a single strike.

"I can't…I can't collect sins. I'm doomed. I'm going to die…But even worse. I'm going to die and suffer forever."

As he cried, the last remainder of conscience left in his mind made him reach for his phone, struggling to unlock it and type with his giant and sharp nails. He scrolled through his short contact list, clicking on an icon named "Anna", trying his best to type a simple message: I'M SORRY.

As he typed, his bones started to rearrange themselves, making him cower in pain, with his tears now fleeing the mask. His phone rang, showing a message from Anna: It's okay.

That simple, short and probably random message struck a nerve inside of Elias. Half of the skull undid itself, and Elias screamed from all the accumulated pain, now finally being able to talk. He ran to his phone, dialing Anna's number. Eventually, she picked up. Her soothing voice ran through Elias's body like a shockwave.

"Hey, Elias."

Elias sighed, pushing out a soft smile.

"Hi, Anna."

Anna giggled.

"How are you doing? I haven't seen you since New Year."

Elias pressed his forehead.

"The one where I was drunk and messaged you all night, you mean?"

Anna remained silent for a few seconds.

"Yeah…"

Elias thought that this was probably a bad decision.

"Look, Anna. I-I just…"

He couldn't find the words to complete the sentence, but he and Anna had been over this exact same interaction so many times she already knew what to say.

"I know, Elias. You had a crush on me, I humiliated you multiple times, slandered you to my friends, called the cops on you three times and you still didn't get over me. But, I grew up. You did too. I forgave you, you said you forgave me. We should've been over this already. Besides, you know my boyfriend doesn't like when I talk to other men on the phone."

Elias pressed his nails through his palm, starting a small bleeding out of sheer frustration and shame.

"I know, you've told me that for four years now. I just wanted to say that…I…I'll die."

Anna sighed.

"Are you thinking about suicide again?"

Elias looked down.

"I already killed myself."

Anna seemed to choke out of surprise.

"What? What are you trying to say?"

Elias pressed even deeper on his wound.

"I killed myself three days ago. I was reborn as a Burden. Now, there's a demon inside of me demanding sins. And, if I don't feed on it, they'll take my soul for the debt and I'll be erased from existence and condemned to eternal suffering."

Anna remained entirely silent.

"You know these things exist. I'm telling you because I'm…Desperate. And I didn't want to die without hearing your voice one last time."

Anna breathed heavily.

"You didn't change a single thing, Elias. If what you're saying is true…I'm sorry for you. You won't buy my attention with your self pity anymore."

Anna hung up the call. Elias smashed his phone, punching the ground, making crater-sized holes with each blow. Angrily, he had given up on any hope he once had for his peaceful survival. Now jumping from building to building with incredible speed, Elias made his way to the Red Lace Gentlemen's Club.

Inside of the club, Rudy Judd, the owner of the establishment, walked through the crammed nightclub, accompanied by his six bodyguards. As he walked, he passed through many of the women, playfully pressing their breasts and slapping their glutes, even pressing his own face against their naked breasts. He hugged two of them, taking them with him towards an empty booth, away from all the club's commotion. He took a sit at the booth, with his bodyguards maintaining their stations, protecting their boss. Rudy sat down, with two of the women hugging him.

"Damn, girls. You better behave yourselves, or I'mma be eating them pussies of yours in front of our guests."

They laughed, with Rudy holding both of them by the glutes. After about five minutes, five Asian-looking men entered the room, sitting on the opposite booth of Rudy, staring at him with disgust. Their apparent leader, an older man with long white hair and a beard, seemed to shout some orders in Japanese. They were all dressed with extreme elegance, with expensive all-black suits and gloves, as well as expensive watches. Their necks exhibited multiple Irezumi-style tattoos.

"Konnichiwa."

Rudy greeted them with terrible Japanese. The older man stared with sheer disrespect.

"We offer you a million dollar deal and you meet us with prostitutes?"

Rudy laughed, as one of the girls put a cigar in his mouth, lighting it for him.

"Just chill, yeah? I thought you Japs actually enjoyed some pussy."

They said something in Japanese, clearly annoyed, but regardless. The conversation carried on.

"Our deal is simple. We bring our heroin from the Chinese ports, you make your girls sell it on the streets and you sell it here for trusted customers. You give us a flat 65% every month."

Rudy scoffed.

"65%? Ya'll must be thinking that heroin is that high nowadays. It's not the eighties anymore, gramps. Weed and cocaine is where the money's at."

The man rested his chin on his hands.

"First of all, my name is Hirakurei. Secondly…Sure, weed and cocaine might bring you more results on short term sales, but you can't build an empire on twenty dollar bills. With heroin, you'll have thousands of sales every single day. The people will be stealing and selling themselves just to have a single hit of our product. Our heroin is produced with pure Chinese opium poppies, carefully selected, grown and extracted, then synthesized by our most skilled chemist. A single milliliter of this is thirty-five times more powerful than five grams of cocaine. It can leave you euphoric for more than eight hours straight. You don't feel pain, hunger, fear…You feel superhuman."

Hirakurei smirked, proud. Rudy smoked the cigar.

"Y'all are on some evil shit. Let's do it, then. I'll do 65%…If you tell me why you're selling dope."

Hirakurei shrugged.

"For money. What sort of dumb question is that?"

Rudy leaned forward.

"I know, I'm just saying…You guys are from the Mie Republic, right? Ever since the war with the United States of Gomorrah, I don't think there's any good stuff for you to spend your money on over there. But, you don't live here either. Where does your money go? Nuclear bunkers?"

Rudy laughed, smoking. Hirakurei remained entirely serious, even irritated.

"The western addiction for quick gratification and quick lust is what keeps our revolution afloat. The money from the heroin and the girls is what buys us ammunition, weapons, rations, uniforms, bases, vehicles. You can't fund a war with charity. Thanks to the efforts of individuals such as yourself, our army is no longer a guerrilla, but rather a paramilitary force to be reckoned with."

Rudy scoffed again, as one of the strippers sat on his lap.

"I'll pretend I know what any of that shit means. I'm working on some CIA shit for y'all? Shit, little old me? I feel important."

Hirakurei remained in the same position, assertive.

"Important is not to be mistaken with irreplaceable."

One of the men that accompanied Hirakurei placed a black suitcase on the table, opening it, revealing dozens of syringes. Hirakurei showed it to Rudy, continuing his line of thought.

"That's the first batch of the month. You'll sell all you can. If something ends up not selling, you sell it to traphouses or to other smaller drug pushers. Every month, you'll declare every penny you made from these. You give us a flat 65%, and we will guarantee your protection and the well-being of your women."

Rudy thought for a bit, reaching his hand out to Hirakurei.

"Deal."

Hirakurei just stood up, ignoring the handshake.

"Pleasure doing business."

Him and his lackeys left, leaving Rudy alone with the strippers.

"Hey, Glitter. Go home. I want some one on one with little Breezy here."

One of the strippers left, leaving the other one there. The so-called Breezy stood there, ashamed.

"So, if my math is right, you're two thousand dollars short this month. What's the matter, Breezy?"

Rudy said, blowing smoke in her face.

"I've been…Working less. I'm trying to go to university at night."

Rudy scoffed, grabbing her face.

"You gotta be kidding me. In twenty years of pimping, it's the first time I see a bitch trying to have a diploma!"

Rudy slaps Breezy, that immediately starts sobbing.

"N-No! Rudy, please, don't hit me! I'll make up for it, I swear!"

Rudy exhibited a devious grin, reaching for his belt, undoing it and revealing his bare parts to Breezy.

"Oh, you sure will. You better not gag, skank, or I'll paint the wall red with that empty brain of yours."

Breezy sobbed even more, covering her face.

"I-I don't want to…No…Don't make me do it…"

Rudy reached for his pistol on the table, pointing it at Breezy.

"Ass to the wall, bitch. You'll be my fucktoy tonight."

Breezy cried desperately, sobbing, pressing her chest to the wall, arching her back. But, before anything could happen, one of the bodyguards stormed into the booth.

"Mr. Rudy?"

Rudy quickly covered his parts.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS IT?!"

The bodyguard looked away.

"Elias is here. Says he wants to meet you. Bruce is holding him at the entrance."

Rudy spat on the ground.

"Elias? That fucking cracker disappears for days and has the audacity to come here? Let him in so I can beat his fucking ass!"

The bodyguard reaches for his radio.

"Bruce, let him pass."

At the entrance, Elias is covering himself with a huge brown cowl, with only one of his horns visible. The bodyguard let him pass.

"Cool mask, bro, but Rudy will beat the shit out of you."

Elias passed, staring at the VIP booths where Rudy stayed.

"No. He won't live to see tomorrow."