The streets of Ocra hardly changed – beautiful crafting arctech signs of the various brothels lined the walls of luxurious buildings, enticing tourists from Raktor to visit. The sex workers stood on the side of the pavement, luring potential clients who were stumbling out of one of the many pubs nearby.
Ocra flourished as a trade hub for smuggling, but also as a way for citizens of the Yual Dominion to escape the prohibition bans. Vices flourished in the town here, serving as a hotspot for every ‘sin’ the average citizen could dream of.
It did not compare to the scale of Raktor, but it held its own – though at the expense of its people. Just outside the glitz and glamour, countless squatters and slum dwellers begged, robbed and stole in a never-ending cycle of revenge, prestige and hope: hope that one day they might escape this vicious loop.
Underneath the campaign posters of the local mayor promising prosperity, starving children scuffled with one another over the leftover food thrown out by the high-rollers of the casinos, the sounds of laughter masking the dull thuds of skull against stone.
The casino was a hive of activity – hundreds of tourists from nearby came to strike it lucky at one of the card or dice games. A heavily tattooed Versian sauntered into the casino with a Raktor citizen in tow. “Trust me; this is the best casino in town.” The Versian smiled genially as he patted the back of his acquaintance
“Hmm, I find that hard to believe. The last two casinos I’ve been to have ripped me off.”
“That was because you did not have a Versian guiding you, like me! Come on, at least try a few games, for my sake. When have I ever let you down? Hmm?”
“About three months ago, when the shipment was late.”
“And it was only late by one hour! Come on, I already waived the transport fee for that one time.”
“… Fine.” The Raktor citizen begrudgingly agreed, sitting down at a poker table.
“Haha, I promise you won’t regret it.” Masir grinned, taking a seat next to him, nodding at the dealer.
The poker game went fast, with the Raktor citizen unwilling to commit to any hand, folding at the first sign of a push. Masir continued joking with the rest of the players at the table, scratching his chin with his pinky, evidently aimed at the dealer.
The Raktor citizen soon took his dealt two hands, his eyes slightly twitching as he peeked at the cards. “Call.”
Masir smirked as he checked his cards. “Oh? We’re playing now, are we? I think I have a good hand myself. Raise to 500.”
“Call.”
Masir was shocked by the steadfastness of the Raktor citizen, who slightly grinned in response, the face of a man who clearly has a good hand.
As the dealer dealt the next three cards onto the centre of the table, the Raktor citizen’s face was stoic, a true poker face. Masir, on the other hand, continued playing with the pot reaching nearly five thousand rakels, eventually losing to the Raktor citizen, who was dealt a pocket pair of aces. “What kind of luck is that?!” Masir exclaimed in shock.
“Pay up, Masir. Your own fault for bringing me into this casino!”
“Fine, fine. Shit, I should have led you back to the other two casinos!” Masir sighed as the dealer shoved the chips over to the side of the Raktor citizen.
“Don’t even bother, this casino is my new hangout now!”
“Alright, you wiped me. I got to go grab more chips from the front.” Masir took his leave from the table, scratching his nose with three fingers and pulling back his oily fringe by dragging a pinky across his forehead.
The dealer did not give a reaction, only showing a sign of recognition through the eyes for a brief moment. Hook, line and sinker. Masir grinned as he walked past the bodyguards, who all bowed slightly towards him. Reaching the chip counter, he was immediately handed a Euria Seed pipe and a bag of poker chips.
“Never mind the chips, I’m not playing any longer,” Masir grunted as he lit the pipe. “Make sure he only makes a five per cent profit overall over the next five days. Give him the full VIP treatment. Allow him to leverage using his assets. On the day he leaves for Raktor, wipe him out. He’ll come begging to me soon enough.”
Just like that, casinos hooked in businessmen and middle-class earners from Raktor to spend their hard-earned rakels. The scam was made even more believable when the boss of the entire place lost in a game – who would dare to claim the casino was rigged then?
Masir left the casino, heading to a wagon stop just right outside, where a dozen kids were cleaning the wagons and listening in on the rumours of those they transported. One kid ran up to Masir, bowing deeply. “Sir Masir, there’s been word from the inn.”
“What? Is he refusing to pay his protection fee again?”
“No, he says Makoa is back!”
“Makoa?! I thought the bastard was arrested by the enforcers.”
“And he says he’s currently escorting an extremely wealthy individual.”
“Oh, really. No problems beating him up?”
“The innkeeper said he looked like an easy target. The second room, third floor on the right.”
“Good. Round the boys up – I need a dozen. Time for them to get off their lazy bums and make some ransom money.”
Masir’s gang called the shots around the town of Ocra – they were the largest gang in business. Granted, the town was not particularly big, only with a few hundred thousand people being residents. However, there was more than enough of the pie to go around, with Masir’s taking the lion’s share and establishing a sort of stable environment with the other two gangs, allowing them to focus on profiting off the incoming tourists.
Masir did not wait around, heading to one of the safehouses to check on his goods—dozens of slaves captured from Raktor, kidnapped off the streets. He grinned as he walked down the row of cages, inspecting the quality of those kidnapped.
“Really good haul today; these will all fetch a good price in the capital.” He squatted and reached his hand out through the cage to try and touch the fair skin of an obviously posh lady, immediately earning him a tight slap on the hand.
“Fuck off, you cunt.”
“Oh my, such a vulgar mouth won’t do you any good where you’re going. My clients won’t like that. Better nip that in the bud now, my dear. Otherwise, I might sell you to Vin instead of the capital.” Masir grinned. “Perhaps the bandits would give you the treatment you truly deserve.”
The lady simply glared at him, while the other prisoners who had been here for a much longer time did not have the energy nor the attitude any longer, having been punished with a lack of food and water.
One of the gang members approached Masir. “Sir, Kola is ready with the men. Shall we attack?”
Masir left the safehouse to join a dozen men under his command, led by his second-in-command Kola. “Why would Makoa return now?” Kola pondered.
“I don’t know, but if he thinks he can come back after he betrayed us for the Ilysian Punks…” Masir’s voice trailed off. The gang members all were aware of what happened to those who left Masir’s gang without further approval – death.
“Isn’t that why he’s offering up someone to kidnap? As a peace offering.”
“Or he’s planning on using us to clear up his own debts. Or, he’s planning to betray us again. Split up and surround the inn; I don’t want any unexpected variables. Kola, bag and drag the guy out.”
Kola nodded. They approached the inn, with the innkeeper and his family immediately vacating the premises, having gone through the same routine many times before.
Barging into the inn, Kola headed up to the second room, breaking down the dilapidated door in one swift motion. Before the target could even wake up, they wrapped a rucksack around his head and gave him a few punches, tied his limbs up and hauled him out. “Get Makoa out here as well,” Kola ordered one of his men.
Makoa did not fight back, already expecting them to arrive as he walked out of the inn with his hands up, surrendering to Masir. “The prodigal Makoa returns. Gone off to make your fortune in Raktor, only remembering the bonds you made when you’re down and out. How terrible, Makoa.” Masir sneered.
However, Makoa did not answer, only looking at the target. “You guys knocked him out?!”
Kola was confused. “What’s the matter? He was an easy target.”
Makoa frowned slightly, but Masir scowled as he grabbed Makoa by the collar. “Ignoring your former leader, hmm? Maybe you need a lesson. Kola, tie this cunt up and order all the boys back to Safehouse 1. It’s time for a reminder.”
The Safehouse was a large warehouse situated near the river, serving as an illicit mooring point for clandestine smuggling and trading of contraband goods, avoiding taxes by the local mayor and the government. Nearly a hundred members were now gathered, half of which were already working on concealing goods into the lining of the crate walls, masking the crates with other products like food, spices and metal ore.
Kola tossed the target into a holding cell. “Guard him. Makoa seemed surprised that we managed to catch him – there must be a trick somewhere. Search him carefully and strip him.” He ordered five of his men before joining Masir on top of a few crates where Makoa had already been roughed up, bound to a chair.
“Ocra boys has got to stick together – that’s the only way we’ll become kings of this mess. The cunts in the capital want us down; the bitches in Raktor scorned us. Only through unity and supporting each other can we truly be free. Isn’t that right, boys?” Masir spoke to the men, earning nods and sounds of approval.
“Yet here we have a prime example of someone who had betrayed the Ocra boys: thinking he could do better with Javel and his cronies. Do better than us. Now here he is, crawling back to us. What should we do?”
“Fuck him! He doesn’t deserve us!”
“Kill him!”
“Hang his body up for everyone in town to see – that’ll teach them!”
The men were riled up, some throwing things at the bound Makoa, calling for his death. Masir smiled, before leaning next to Makoa and grabbing his head, placing a knife against his ear. “You got thirty seconds to tell me why exactly you came back here and why you want us to kidnap the guy. What are you hiding? Tell me, and maybe I’ll only cut off one part.”
“Whatever happens doesn’t matter – as long as you kill him,” Makoa muttered through pained sharp breathing. “And if you don’t? Then consider it my present to you.”
“Kill him? Why would I kill a kidnapped person who can be ranso-“
A loud bang erupted from the basement of the warehouse, with a screaming Ocra gang member being tossed out of the stairwell, slamming into a crate before crumpling into an unconscious mess of ore and contraband goods.
“Shit!” Kola was already prepared for this, pulling out an arctech cleaver and motioning for a few men to follow him towards the stairwell. However, before they could take even a few steps, the target stepped out the stairwell, his hands bloodied as he dragged two struggling Ocra gang members by the neck.
With a simple clench of both his hands, he cracked the necks and crushed the windpipes of both of them, before hurtling them towards Kola with an alarming speed.
Huh, low exp. Might be more useful alive then. Kyle took advantage of the surprise on the gang members assembled, rushing in and immediately grappling Kola to the ground and disarming him, taking the arctech cleaver for himself.
“Who the fuck are you?!” Masir yelled from the top of the crates, grabbing Makoa’s neck and placing the knife against it. “Stop right there or else he dies! Don’t think I don’t know this was a trap set up by the both of you!”
“You can kill him for all I care. As for who am I? I’m your new owner.”
The streets of Ocra hardly changed – beautiful crafting arctech signs of the various brothels lined the walls of luxurious buildings, enticing tourists from Raktor to visit. The sex workers stood on the side of the pavement, luring potential clients who were stumbling out of one of the many pubs nearby.
Ocra flourished as a trade hub for smuggling, but also as a way for citizens of the Yual Dominion to escape the prohibition bans. Vices flourished in the town here, serving as a hotspot for every ‘sin’ the average citizen could dream of.
It did not compare to the scale of Raktor, but it held its own – though at the expense of its people. Just outside the glitz and glamour, countless squatters and slum dwellers begged, robbed and stole in a never-ending cycle of revenge, prestige and hope: hope that one day they might escape this vicious loop.
Underneath the campaign posters of the local mayor promising prosperity, starving children scuffled with one another over the leftover food thrown out by the high-rollers of the casinos, the sounds of laughter masking the dull thuds of skull against stone.
The casino was a hive of activity – hundreds of tourists from nearby came to strike it lucky at one of the card or dice games. A heavily tattooed Versian sauntered into the casino with a Raktor citizen in tow. “Trust me; this is the best casino in town.” The Versian smiled genially as he patted the back of his acquaintance
“Hmm, I find that hard to believe. The last two casinos I’ve been to have ripped me off.”
“That was because you did not have a Versian guiding you, like me! Come on, at least try a few games, for my sake. When have I ever let you down? Hmm?”
“About three months ago, when the shipment was late.”
“And it was only late by one hour! Come on, I already waived the transport fee for that one time.”
“… Fine.” The Raktor citizen begrudgingly agreed, sitting down at a poker table.
“Haha, I promise you won’t regret it.” Masir grinned, taking a seat next to him, nodding at the dealer.
The poker game went fast, with the Raktor citizen unwilling to commit to any hand, folding at the first sign of a push. Masir continued joking with the rest of the players at the table, scratching his chin with his pinky, evidently aimed at the dealer.
The Raktor citizen soon took his dealt two hands, his eyes slightly twitching as he peeked at the cards. “Call.”
Masir smirked as he checked his cards. “Oh? We’re playing now, are we? I think I have a good hand myself. Raise to 500.”
“Call.”
Masir was shocked by the steadfastness of the Raktor citizen, who slightly grinned in response, the face of a man who clearly has a good hand.
As the dealer dealt the next three cards onto the centre of the table, the Raktor citizen’s face was stoic, a true poker face. Masir, on the other hand, continued playing with the pot reaching nearly five thousand rakels, eventually losing to the Raktor citizen, who was dealt a pocket pair of aces. “What kind of luck is that?!” Masir exclaimed in shock.
“Pay up, Masir. Your own fault for bringing me into this casino!”
“Fine, fine. Shit, I should have led you back to the other two casinos!” Masir sighed as the dealer shoved the chips over to the side of the Raktor citizen.
“Don’t even bother, this casino is my new hangout now!”
“Alright, you wiped me. I got to go grab more chips from the front.” Masir took his leave from the table, scratching his nose with three fingers and pulling back his oily fringe by dragging a pinky across his forehead.
The dealer did not give a reaction, only showing a sign of recognition through the eyes for a brief moment. Hook, line and sinker. Masir grinned as he walked past the bodyguards, who all bowed slightly towards him. Reaching the chip counter, he was immediately handed a Euria Seed pipe and a bag of poker chips.
“Never mind the chips, I’m not playing any longer,” Masir grunted as he lit the pipe. “Make sure he only makes a five per cent profit overall over the next five days. Give him the full VIP treatment. Allow him to leverage using his assets. On the day he leaves for Raktor, wipe him out. He’ll come begging to me soon enough.”
Just like that, casinos hooked in businessmen and middle-class earners from Raktor to spend their hard-earned rakels. The scam was made even more believable when the boss of the entire place lost in a game – who would dare to claim the casino was rigged then?
Masir left the casino, heading to a wagon stop just right outside, where a dozen kids were cleaning the wagons and listening in on the rumours of those they transported. One kid ran up to Masir, bowing deeply. “Sir Masir, there’s been word from the inn.”
“What? Is he refusing to pay his protection fee again?”
“No, he says Makoa is back!”
“Makoa?! I thought the bastard was arrested by the enforcers.”
“And he says he’s currently escorting an extremely wealthy individual.”
“Oh, really. No problems beating him up?”
“The innkeeper said he looked like an easy target. The second room, third floor on the right.”
“Good. Round the boys up – I need a dozen. Time for them to get off their lazy bums and make some ransom money.”
Masir’s gang called the shots around the town of Ocra – they were the largest gang in business. Granted, the town was not particularly big, only with a few hundred thousand people being residents. However, there was more than enough of the pie to go around, with Masir’s taking the lion’s share and establishing a sort of stable environment with the other two gangs, allowing them to focus on profiting off the incoming tourists.
Masir did not wait around, heading to one of the safehouses to check on his goods—dozens of slaves captured from Raktor, kidnapped off the streets. He grinned as he walked down the row of cages, inspecting the quality of those kidnapped.
“Really good haul today; these will all fetch a good price in the capital.” He squatted and reached his hand out through the cage to try and touch the fair skin of an obviously posh lady, immediately earning him a tight slap on the hand.
“Fuck off, you cunt.”
“Oh my, such a vulgar mouth won’t do you any good where you’re going. My clients won’t like that. Better nip that in the bud now, my dear. Otherwise, I might sell you to Vin instead of the capital.” Masir grinned. “Perhaps the bandits would give you the treatment you truly deserve.”
The lady simply glared at him, while the other prisoners who had been here for a much longer time did not have the energy nor the attitude any longer, having been punished with a lack of food and water.
One of the gang members approached Masir. “Sir, Kola is ready with the men. Shall we attack?”
Masir left the safehouse to join a dozen men under his command, led by his second-in-command Kola. “Why would Makoa return now?” Kola pondered.
“I don’t know, but if he thinks he can come back after he betrayed us for the Ilysian Punks…” Masir’s voice trailed off. The gang members all were aware of what happened to those who left Masir’s gang without further approval – death.
“Isn’t that why he’s offering up someone to kidnap? As a peace offering.”
“Or he’s planning on using us to clear up his own debts. Or, he’s planning to betray us again. Split up and surround the inn; I don’t want any unexpected variables. Kola, bag and drag the guy out.”
Kola nodded. They approached the inn, with the innkeeper and his family immediately vacating the premises, having gone through the same routine many times before.
Barging into the inn, Kola headed up to the second room, breaking down the dilapidated door in one swift motion. Before the target could even wake up, they wrapped a rucksack around his head and gave him a few punches, tied his limbs up and hauled him out. “Get Makoa out here as well,” Kola ordered one of his men.
Makoa did not fight back, already expecting them to arrive as he walked out of the inn with his hands up, surrendering to Masir. “The prodigal Makoa returns. Gone off to make your fortune in Raktor, only remembering the bonds you made when you’re down and out. How terrible, Makoa.” Masir sneered.
However, Makoa did not answer, only looking at the target. “You guys knocked him out?!”
Kola was confused. “What’s the matter? He was an easy target.”
Makoa frowned slightly, but Masir scowled as he grabbed Makoa by the collar. “Ignoring your former leader, hmm? Maybe you need a lesson. Kola, tie this cunt up and order all the boys back to Safehouse 1. It’s time for a reminder.”
The Safehouse was a large warehouse situated near the river, serving as an illicit mooring point for clandestine smuggling and trading of contraband goods, avoiding taxes by the local mayor and the government. Nearly a hundred members were now gathered, half of which were already working on concealing goods into the lining of the crate walls, masking the crates with other products like food, spices and metal ore.
Kola tossed the target into a holding cell. “Guard him. Makoa seemed surprised that we managed to catch him – there must be a trick somewhere. Search him carefully and strip him.” He ordered five of his men before joining Masir on top of a few crates where Makoa had already been roughed up, bound to a chair.
“Ocra boys has got to stick together – that’s the only way we’ll become kings of this mess. The cunts in the capital want us down; the bitches in Raktor scorned us. Only through unity and supporting each other can we truly be free. Isn’t that right, boys?” Masir spoke to the men, earning nods and sounds of approval.
“Yet here we have a prime example of someone who had betrayed the Ocra boys: thinking he could do better with Javel and his cronies. Do better than us. Now here he is, crawling back to us. What should we do?”
“Fuck him! He doesn’t deserve us!”
“Kill him!”
“Hang his body up for everyone in town to see – that’ll teach them!”
The men were riled up, some throwing things at the bound Makoa, calling for his death. Masir smiled, before leaning next to Makoa and grabbing his head, placing a knife against his ear. “You got thirty seconds to tell me why exactly you came back here and why you want us to kidnap the guy. What are you hiding? Tell me, and maybe I’ll only cut off one part.”
“Whatever happens doesn’t matter – as long as you kill him,” Makoa muttered through pained sharp breathing. “And if you don’t? Then consider it my present to you.”
“Kill him? Why would I kill a kidnapped person who can be ranso-“
A loud bang erupted from the basement of the warehouse, with a screaming Ocra gang member being tossed out of the stairwell, slamming into a crate before crumpling into an unconscious mess of ore and contraband goods.
“Shit!” Kola was already prepared for this, pulling out an arctech cleaver and motioning for a few men to follow him towards the stairwell. However, before they could take even a few steps, the target stepped out the stairwell, his hands bloodied as he dragged two struggling Ocra gang members by the neck.
With a simple clench of both his hands, he cracked the necks and crushed the windpipes of both of them, before hurtling them towards Kola with an alarming speed.
Huh, low exp. Might be more useful alive then. Kyle took advantage of the surprise on the gang members assembled, rushing in and immediately grappling Kola to the ground and disarming him, taking the arctech cleaver for himself.
“Who the fuck are you?!” Masir yelled from the top of the crates, grabbing Makoa’s neck and placing the knife against it. “Stop right there or else he dies! Don’t think I don’t know this was a trap set up by the both of you!”
“You can kill him for all I care. As for who am I? I’m your new owner.”
