To Rule In Shadow

"Let's go. Get in the car." The ridiculously large with the scarred-up face said from the rolled down window of a black SUV. Combined with his tailored suit and black sunglasses, the guy could have been a Fed, if he'd been a little less lethally intimidating.

Jordan nodded, pulling open the passenger side door, and motioning for Carlos to get in the back. Once they were seated, the large man started driving without another word. They continued in silence for a few minutes until Jordan finally worked up the courage to ask a few questions.

"So, I hear you guys are under new management. Are we meeting the new boss?"

Scarface, as Jordan mentally decided to call him until he learned otherwise, glanced at him. "You are."

"What can you tell me about him? I don't want to walk into this meeting blind."

"Nothing I can say will prepare you. You will show up, present your case, and then accept whatever course he chooses. That is all you need to know." The man replied with a snort.

"What if we don't like his terms?" Carlos asked from the backseat, obviously uneasy about the whole situation.

"Then I suggest you learn to like them. As soon as you sparked his interest, you lost the right to choose your path." Scarface's voice took on a slightly husky quality that made further questions seem unwise. "I know that all too well."

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence, and Jordan considered all of his options.

[I could put a gun to this guy's head, take the car, and get out of the city. The NS-42s will probably put a hit out on us, if they haven't already, so we'll need to go into hiding.]

It was an option, one that might be preferable to whatever the Ortegas had planned for him. But, his instincts were telling him that, even if he succeeded in getting away, which was an admittedly uncertain prospect, he couldn't run from whatever was coming.

Finally, they pulled into an underground parking garage, and were escorted into a small office building. As far as Jordan could tell, there wasn't any kind of business name listed anywhere.

They wandered through a few empty hallways before ending up in a spacious waiting room. A gorgeous brunette was sitting behind the receptionist's desk. As soon as they walked in, she stood and directed a cold glare at Scarface. "These are the ones?"

The man nodded a reply, urging them to move forward into the room. It was hard to tell, since he hadn't taken off his sunglasses yet, but Jordan thought his eyes were fixed on the set of double doors that looked like they led into an executive's office. His body posture was tense, almost fearful.

Suddenly, Jordan regretted dragging Carlos here with him. Anyone that could inspire a response like that from a man like this, wasn't someone to be trifled with.

After a few seconds, a youthful male voice replied, "Good. Send them in."

As normal sounding as the voice was, Jordan felt chills running down his spine. When the woman pointed at the double doors, and motioned for them to enter, it took all of his willpower just to keep from running away. However, he knew he didn't have another choice. This was his only path to survival now.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open.

The office was done in a minimalist, post-modern style. All sharp edges and dark, muted colors. While some light filtered in through the lowered blinds of the windows behind the desk, it was otherwise unilluminated, casting the room in shadows that seemed to twist and writhe at the edges of his vision.

Jordan felt his heartbeat begin to quicken. The primitive, animalistic part of his brain was telling him that he was in the presence of a predator, that death was but a moment away, and it left him trembling. Carlos issued a garbled sound to his left, evidently feeling the same invisible pressure.

Somehow knowing that to go back meant death, Jordan summoned every ounce of willpower to take a step forward, marching towards the source of the horror.

Suddenly, the pressure seemed to lift, and he found himself in a normal, but poorly lit office, facing a darkly handsome youth across a clean and organized desk. He heard Carlos gasping for breath next to him.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Please have a seat." The presumable Adrian spoke, before frowning down at Jordan's blood-soaked pants.

"It's alright man, I'll stand. Wouldn't want to dirty your new furniture." He could tell from the smell that everything in this office was indeed new, probably because of the new takeover that somehow left this young man in charge.

"Show him the thing. You're going to love this…uh…sir." Carlos spoke animatedly before trailing off as he realized the audience.

Swallowing hard, Jordan pulled a wrapped package from the pocket of his coat. The same package that had nearly gotten them killed in the first place, and would hopefully be the source of their salvation. He laid it on the desk, and solemnly unwrapped it.

Inside was a small bone, about the size and shape of a child's femur, but lacking evidence of growth plates. Crude etchings covered its length in a manner that resembled a primitive language, or at least one that still relied upon pictographic symbols.

"We heard the Ortegas paid top dollar for this occult stuff, so when a friend of mine mentioned a certain package was being delivered to a certain person, we made sure to intercept it. Now, I don't know how much you normally pay for something like this, but there are a few things we want."

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Adrian examined the bone without picking it up. Even without touching it, he could feel the power and palpable hatred it seemed to contain. Consulting his borrowed knowledge, he was able to determine the source of the item, as well as its relative value.

[A relic of the Middle Dark, back when humanity had yet to discover fire, and the gods they worshiped were still malicious and cruel. How strange that it came into the hands of a young man from the streets with no understanding of its true value. Although, I suppose I am not one to talk.]

"You bring me stolen goods, and then make demands? You realize you've essentially given it to me by bringing it here. What stops me from simply killing the two of you and taking it for myself? I suspect that would be a lot simpler than anything you might want from me." Adrian commented with a slight smile. One that didn't quite reach his eyes.

The shorter man, the one he'd heard was named Carlos, started panicking a little, feebly laughing as he made an attempt at defusing the situation. "Haha, that's a good one, man. Listen, we ain't looking for much here, just-"

"-We're want protection, alright? The guys who own that bone are going to do some nasty things to us if they find us. I heard some stories, man. Talk about the stuff of nightmares. They do this thing with a pineapple…." Carlos trailed off with a shudder.

The taller man face-palmed.

Adrian couldn't help but chuckle himself, "Heh, don't worry. I have my principles. So long as you are a customer of mine, you have nothing to fear from me. So, let us talk business. I gathered from your diatribe that you are interested in protection, but in what capacity?"

Jordan frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Well, do you want to be shuttled out of the city to somewhere safe? Do you want us to publicly state that you are under our protection? Do you want us to facilitate a return of this item in a manner that will assuage the gang chasing you? Or, do you want us to remove the threat in its entirety? There are a wealth of options when it comes to your request."

"What can we get for this bone?" The big man asked, a shrewd look on his face.

"For the artifact alone? I can set you up somewhere in another country, I suppose. It should cover the cost of transportation and placement, but nothing else." Adrian replied thoughtfully.

"That's it? Do you know what we went through to get this thing? People died! We nearly died!"

Adrian shrugged. "No one asked you to steal it in the first place."

[Looks like I'll need to speak with Vance about revamping the security procedures. Although, he might have intentionally neglected this aspect of his duty, now that I think about it. I definitely need to remind him that something like guns won't be enough to get him out of his contract.]

He sneered. "An interesting choice. I don't offer you the terms you want, and so you threaten my life? Tell me, where do we go from here in this little scenario of yours?"

Jordan stepped forward until he was only a meter away, gun held firmly in his right hand. "You're going to give us money, enough to live comfortably for the rest of our lives, and then you are going to get us out of the city, or I'm going to put a bullet in your brain case."

The punk was obviously scared, but the steadiness of his hand spoke volumes about his courage, even when was issuing threats.

Adrian gave him a smile, "I have a counter offer."

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The room darkened, as shadows began to dance in the periphery of his vision once more. Trying hard to control his fear, Jordan grimaced, and tightened hid grip on the gun. "You better stop that shit right now! I'll shoot-"

There was a flash of movement in front of him, and suddenly he was only holding the gun's grip. Every part of the pistol above his index finger and thumb had been sheared off by something so sharp, that he didn't even feel it as it cut through. It took him a few moments to realize that his hand was still intact.

He was still staring blankly down at it when the man across the desk stood up, eyes alight with amus.e.m.e.nt. "You two have a choice now. You can walk away, and take your chances with your pursuers on your own, or we can make a deal. Either way, I'm going to be keeping this artifact. Consider it a service fee. Everything else, however, is negotiable."