The aftermath of the bizarre showdown in the casino’s main hall lingers in the air as I make my way towards the back room. My leather shoes echo on the polished marble floor. The once-opulent casino, bearing scars from the recent confrontation, now seems to hold its breath.
The heavy, ornate doors leading to the back room swing open with a creak, revealing the dimly lit chamber beyond. As I step inside, the atmosphere changes, becoming thick with tension. The scent of cigar smoke hangs in the air, mingling with the subtle notes of expensive cologne.
My two cousins, Dragini and Gattini follow closely behind me as I stride into the backroom, the only place in our casino where true business takes place. They wear tailored suits, but their expressions betray unease. Dragini’s brow is furrowed, and Gattini’s eyes dart around, taking in the room’s grim surroundings.
“Francesco,” Gattini begins, his voice hushed, “was it really worth it? Look at the mess they made here.”
Dragini nods in agreement, his voice tinged with concern. “Yeah, this casino is our livelihood. And for what? One yakuza?”
I take a deep breath, the scent of cigar smoke filling my lungs as I consider their words. The room itself is a study in contrasts. Amidst the cold metal walls and a cement floor stained with years of treading, the room’s plush red velvet drapes and heavy mahogany furniture provide a surreal air of sophistication, while a faint smell of whisky and blood permeates the air, illuminated only by a solitary fluorescent bulb casting eerie shadows around the chilling scene.
At the centre of the chamber, our croupier is busy entertaining our guest with her own special 'blackjack,' slowly carving her way up the yakuza’s body with a blade. Every carefully executed cut elicits a weak moan from the yakuza, and the look of defiance in his eyes which I am all too familiar with.
In this name of business, it is often the lesser evil that prevails. “It’s a good investment,” I mutter under my breath, “If it becomes known that we have taken down the yakuza, their shares in the underground market will be ours for the taking. It could prove to be quite profitable.”
I lock eyes with the yakuza, knowing that I wield a power too strong for the man to resist.
With each swipe of her blade, Pauline takes more control over the yakuza, slowly but surely tightening her grasp on his soul. The only sound in the room is the slow and steady drag of metal through flesh. It is tense and pleasant, as though we are a funeral procession marching across a sombre landscape.
The croupier, the same black-haired woman who has been torturing the yakuza, continues her gruesome work, her methodical movements echoing in the confined space. The yakuza, now bound and bloodied, is a pitiful sight, his shirt torn and his face a grotesque mask of pain.
I watch the scene for a moment, unmoved by the brutality. In this world, business can be ruthless, and trust is a rare commodity. My gaze finally shifts from the yakuza back to my cousins.
“We’ll play along with the Triads for now,” I say, my tone firm. “But we’ll ensure those shares end up in our hands.”
The croupier continues her work with renewed fervour, not missing a beat as she cuts away his clothing with surgical precision until he is completely exposed. She has a practised eye, aiming each slash of the blade to inflict maximum pain with minimal effort. The yakuza squirms and moans in agony, his body trembling.
The tool in Pauline’s hand is small but intimidating, resembling an old-fashioned claw hammer with a dull metallic head. The handle, which looks to be made of some sort of sturdy, hard plastic, has been crafted to fit snugly in the palm of her hand. As she holds it up, the light from the bulb overhead casts a sinister shadow across the tip of the head, where a sharp, pointed blade protrudes from it. The blade’s point is just long enough to puncture the skin without the need for actual force, and its edges have been shaved to a razor sharpness. As Pauline takes aim, her grip is firm but steady, and the yakuza’s eyes widen in fear as he watches the tool descend toward his groin. With one swift, calculated motion she pierces through fabric and flesh, and the yakuza screams out in agony as the blade sinks painfully into his testicles.
Pauline turns her gaze towards the yakuza with a disdainful smirk, and her voice takes on a cruel edge as she drawls, “Well, what do you know? Looks like you’ve been castrated, just like any other horse.” She takes a moment to savour the terrified expression on the yakuza’s face.
“I guess that’s what you get for taking out my friends. An eye for an eye,” I chuckle.
The other mafiosi begin to cheer and raise their drinks in a toast. “For our fallen comrades!” One of them calls out, with Gattini and Dragini both joining in with raised voices and a solemn fervour. The room echoes with the clinks of glasses, and the mood quickly brightens as the mafiosi indulge in their celebration of vengeance.
As I watch the spectacle unfold in the dimly lit back room, my mind races with thoughts of our next move. The yakuza’s tortured screams are a chilling reminder of the world we inhabit—a world where alliances are forged in blood and power is the ultimate currency.
I turn my gaze toward Gattini, my cousin who’s been standing by my side throughout this ordeal. He may not share my penchant for brutality, but he understands the necessity of it in our line of work. I nod to him, and he nods in return, his eyes reflecting a determination that matches my own.
“Gattini,” I say in a low, commanding tone, “we’re going to war with the yakuza on Omond Island. It’s time to grant the Triads their wish. We owe them that much.”
Gattini’s face hardens with resolve as he acknowledges my orders. “Understood, Francesco. I’ll make the necessary arrangements for our journey to the island.”
With that settled, I turn my attention to Dragini, my other cousin. He’s always been the strategist of our family, the one who can assemble an army with a single phone call. I meet his gaze and convey the urgency of the situation.
“Dragini,” I say, my voice firm, “prepare our forces. We’re going to need all the firepower we can muster for this operation. The yakuza won’t go down without a fight.”
Dragini’s eyes gleam with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Consider it done. I’ll mobilize our troops and ensure they’re ready.”
As Gattini and Dragini set off to carry out their respective tasks, I remain in the dimly lit back room, surrounded by the echoes of violence and the lingering scent of blood. The weight of my decisions bears down on me, but in this world, there’s no room for hesitation.
With the Triads as our reluctant allies, we’re about to embark on a perilous journey to Omond Island, where the yakuza hold sway. It’s a high-stakes gamble, and the outcome is far from certain. But in the name of business and power, we’re willing to risk it all.
The room buzzes with activity as my cousins spring into action, and the anticipation of the impending conflict hangs heavy in the air. As I watch them, I can’t help but reflect on the twisted path that has led us here… We just wanted to go on a cruise…
I chuckle to myself, the absurdity of it all overwhelming me. “You know,” I mutter under my breath, “this entire situation is Diana’s fault.”
The room falls silent for a brief moment, the mafiosi and even the tortured yakuza turning their attention to me. My cousins, Gattini and Dragini, exchange puzzled glances, unsure of how to react to my sudden revelation.
The absurdity of the situation, the sheer randomness of it all, has taken hold of me. I break into a fit of laughter, my voice echoing off the cold metal walls of the back room.
“You see,” I explain between bouts of laughter, “if we hadn’t met Diana on that cruise, we wouldn’t be in this mess. We just wanted to go on a simple vacation, and now we’re knee-deep in a war with the yakuza!”
The mafiosi and even the croupier exchange bewildered glances, unsure of how to react to my newfound revelation.
“Mais ptn, c’ki cte Diane?!” Rital exclaims before being slugged by Dragini until he faints.
I gesture for my ten or so shidi to gather their belongings and leave the apartment. The air is now clear, and there’s no immediate threat looming.
“Pack up and move out,” I command in a firm but collected tone. My fellow juniors from the Triads scramble to obey, hastily collecting their gear and securing their weapons.
As they file out of the room, I turn my attention to the yakuza prisoners we had apprehended earlier. I’ve assigned them the task of cleaning the dishes, their bewildered expressions now accompanied by the comical sight of them attempting to navigate the intricacies of a sink filled with soapy water.
One of them, the grumbling woman with a weird appreciation for dinosaurs, approaches a pile of dirty dishes cautiously, as if it were a ticking time bomb. She tentatively picks up a plate with a pair of chopsticks, clearly uncertain about the proper utensils for the task.
Meanwhile, her counterpart, the black-haired boy, seems to have taken a different approach. He’s wearing a makeshift apron fashioned from a kitchen towel, complete with a comically oversized chef’s hat perched atop his head. With exaggerated flourish, he wields a ladle like a knife, attempting to scoop up leftover rice with an air of faux expertise.
The rest of us watch in silent amusement as these hardened criminals grapple with the unfamiliar world of domestic chores.
“You two,” I address them with a stern gaze. “It’s time for you to join the others. You’ll be coming with us for now.” I motion towards the door, indicating that they should follow the rest of our group.
“Let’s go!” The woman exclaims with a sigh of relief, realizing she won’t have to continue cleaning.
“It’s terrible, my esteemed warden,” the boy counters, “we’re far from done!”
“It’s because you’re so slow, NANAYA!” The woman taunts with a mischievous grin.
“SILENCE, MINION!” NANAYA responds, his voice dripping with playful indignation. “YOU DIDN’T HELP A SINGLE BIT!”
With the banter continuing between them, I get impatient since I already decided it’s time to move on. I raise my voice to interrupt their argument.
“Alright, leave the dishes,” I sigh. “We’ve got other matters to attend to.”
We all leave the apartment, our footsteps echoing through the eerie emptiness of the rainy street. The soft pattering of raindrops creates a melancholic backdrop, adding an unsettling ambiance to our surroundings.
XIAO SHUI walks beside me, his face etched with concern. He leans in closer to speak over the sound of the rain. “Shixiong, do you know where DIANA is?” he asks, his voice a mixture of worry and curiosity.
I remain silent, my thoughts occupied with the complexities of our situation.
Meanwhile, the black-haired yakuza attempts to slide under one of the shidi’s umbrellas, much to the annoyance of the umbrella holder. With a sly grin, he tries to squeeze himself into the limited shelter, earning himself an exasperated glare.
But my attention shifts from his antics when I recall the dark history that shrouds him. I turn to him, my voice firm and authoritative. “Hey,” I say, making sure he meets my gaze, “you’ve spilled the blood of many of our comrades. Don’t think I forgot. Walk in front of us, on all fours.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t resist or protest. He simply nods in agreement, a shameless smirk on his face. His compliance earns him amused glances from the woman and bemused, embarrassed gazes from the rest of my shidi.
As he gets down on all fours to walk ahead of us, the woman bursts out laughing with an infectious and hearty guffaw. Her laughter echoes through the quiet, empty street.
The shidi, who had moments ago been embarrassed, now find themselves torn between amusement and discomfort. They exchange embarrassed glances, unsure of how to react to this bizarre turn of events. Some suppress chuckles, unable to resist the comical sight before them, while others wear expressions of uncertainty, not quite sure if it’s appropriate to laugh at this unusual display.
Just as the laughter fills the air, DIANA, the girl we were discussing earlier, suddenly appears from the corner of the street. She is shocked and bewildered by the absurd scene unfolding before her. XIAO SHUI and the other shidi are genuinely glad to see her, but my annoyance at her fleeing the battlefield earlier overshadows any relief.
“What the fuck?” she exclaims in disbelief, her voice a mix of shock and amusement. Her gaze is locked on the sight of the black-haired yakuza prisoner, who is now obediently walking on all fours in front of us, wearing an absurd makeshift apron and a comically oversized chef’s hat.
DIANA’s eyebrows furrow as she tries to make sense of the spectacle. Her eyes dart between the yakuza, who appears shamelessly amused by the situation, and the shidi, who wear expressions of both amusement and discomfort. The woman’s hearty laughter, which still echoes through the quiet street, only adds to her confusion.
“Is that some kind of fetish?” She mutters under her breath, unable to comprehend the bizarre tableau before her. She takes a step closer, her gaze fixed on the peculiar sight, as if hoping that a closer look might provide some explanation for this surreal scene.
“What did you come back for?” I snap, my frustration evident in my tone.
DIANA doesn’t flinch under my scrutiny. Instead, she takes a deep breath and offers an apology. “I’m sorry for running away earlier,” she says, her voice tinged with sincerity. “I messed up, and I need your help.”
I narrow my eyes at her, finding her shameless audacity irritating. “Help with what?” I ask, sceptical of her intentions.
Before I can protest further, XIAO SHUI steps forward, his concern for DIANA overriding his apprehension. “What do you need help with?” he asks, his voice gentle and empathetic.
DIANA takes a moment to compose herself, then she explains, “I need help to save Boobies. She’s in serious trouble, and I can’t do it alone.”
I scoff, convinced that DIANA cannot be trusted. “You expect us to help you after you abandoned us?” I retort, my tone filled with scepticism.
But XIAO SHUI, ever the compassionate and understanding soul, interjects. “Shixiong, I know it’s tough to trust DIANA right now, especially after what happened. But think about it, really think about it,” he implores. “What if it were TIAN SHUI-xiong in trouble? Wouldn’t you want help, even if you’d made a mistake?”
I glance at XIAO SHUI, his words striking a chord within me. I imagine the scenario he describes, the thought of TIAN SHUI in danger causing a pang of worry. Reluctantly, I consider his point.
DIANA, still determined, pleads, “I know I messed up, but I can’t lose Boobies. She’s everything to me.”
I sigh, exhaustion weighing heavily on me, and my impatience with the yakuza prisoners becomes evident. I’m sick and tired of their presence, and the thought of sending them far away, away from our group, is tempting. The idea of not having to explain anything today to the Masters at the Triads is a tempting proposition.
Finally, I relent, though not without a hint of reluctance. “Fine,” I concede, my tone begrudgingly accepting. “You can have the two yakuza prisoners, but I want them back tomorrow.”
DIANA nods with gratitude. “Thank you,” she says sincerely, her eyes reflecting a mix of relief and awkwardness.
“Did you just treat us like your pets? Or your commodities?!” the yakuza woman yells in disbelief, her voice filled with indignation.
“Be quiet, Minion,” the yakuza boy smirks, still on all fours, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “I’m glad to serve a much weaker warden. Strong vassals make poor kings!” He laughs before being violently kicked on the butt by the woman he called 'Minion' one time too many.
