Thirty minutes past midnight. The bouncer at the Vine Creek base of 1564 was leaning against the wall of the base, with a lit cigarette in his mouth. Glaring red and blue lights pounced on him from a distance, growing brighter by the second. There was just one wave of light at first, but then a second came, and a third. A whole fleet of cars, and an armoured vehicle.

“What the hell is up with that?” He threw the cigarette on the floor and extinguished it with a firm step. He pushed open the door slightly and kept it ajar. Brushing his dreadlocks back in apprehension, he said, “Trouble coming. Big trouble.”

Everyone inside saw the lights and stood up. Behind the first pair of police cars, there was an armoured vehicle following. 

“Just what the heck are they planning?!” Zachary Xander clenched his fists. He gave Richard Tate a look, and then glanced upwards towards the ceiling. It was a suggestion for him to station himself on the roof, the strategic position from which he could snipe their opponents. 

“Everyone, get your guns ready. Be prepared for something very ugly!” the leader of Cell 0.0 commanded.

“Wait,” a scrambled voice boomed from the large 1564 insignia attached to the wall. In it was a speaker from which the leader’s voice was broadcast. It was The Hangman himself. “Do not go on the offensive. Do not attack unless they attack first.”

“But boss!” Zachary Xander protested generically.

“We don’t know what they want from us yet. It might simply be an intimidation tactic. They might just be driving by.”

“But they’ve never done this to us for a long time! Why would they stick their heads into this part of Vine Creek now?”

“It must be the general elections…” The Hangman said. “It might just be for show. A political move by Ferguson. We’ll have to see who’s part of the team. Perhaps they’re the friends of our friends. But, considering that they decimated the Red Phoenix recently…for the sake of defence, Hawk, go up onto the roof.” 

He then addressed two men busy packing the bags of crystal methamphetamine beside the stairs, a bald, bearded man and a short, scrawny man. “Holstein and JJ, go up and cover him.” The pair nodded fervently.

“And me?” Xander asked.

“You will speak to them and ask them about their purpose for being here. Then, if they are willing, invite them in, and let them speak to me.”

“That’s it? We’re going to be fine with them just taking a trip down here and shoving their firepower in our face? They’re using armoured vehicles! Those guys are armed like hell! We have to show them why they shouldn’t mess with us!”

“So what if they have big guns, if they don’t fire them? That’s just an empty threat,” Richard Tate said.

“But appearances do matter! We can’t just let ourselves look powerless! How can we just swallow such an insult?” Xander said.

“You are right. Appearances matter. That is why we should not strike until they go offensive. For all we know, they might be trying to entrap us, to entice us into undertaking what might become a great pretext for them,” the Hangman explained. “Then we’ll be the unreasonably hostile party to anyone who sees the news. The public, you know, some love us, some fear us. We don’t want to lose that love, or make them fear unreasonably. That’s not effective for the business.”

“Okay, but entrap?” Xander asked bluntly.

“Yes.” Richard Tate nodded. “To provoke us into attacking them, and then use that as an excuse to wipe us out.”

“Excellent.” The Hangman was satisfied. “However, if they do decide to harm even one of us, we will wipe them all out. We will crush them.”

“Yes, boss!” the whole room concurred.

Richard Tate was halfway up the stairs when The Hangman spoke again. “By the way Hawk, before you take your position, I have something to tell you about—well—your position. I have decided to promote you to leader of Cell 1.0. I’m telling you in case you die too soon to hear it!” The Hangman laughed.

“I see. That’s an honour, boss. Why, though?”

“I’ve observed how you handled lots of situations. Dealing with the product, dealing with hired jobs, dealing with sneaky politicians.”

“Oh, yes, sneaky politicians.”

“That day, especially. You were highly sensible with Vance. I was online, listening, when he returned that day. Perhaps, given their actions now, I may regret not giving my assent to attack the them, but still—”

“Huh? Boss? Them?”

“You know, when Vance offered you another job, when he wanted to place a hit on the—”

“Police!” a booming voice blasted through the door. The vehicles had been parked in front of the base, obstructing any route of escape. Doors opened. Doors closed.

Richard Tate rushed up the stairs towards the roof. From there threw his gaze below. The bouncer stood with a gun in his hand. A troop of officers stood before him. They looked to be officers from the Subdivision for Underground Syndicates. One man tore through the crowd. 

Matthew Taylor. 

*

Taylor knew this was not going to be an easy mission. It wouldn’t be impossible, surely. But it would be difficult. It would require some good cardiovascular activity. 

“So, do we get them now?” Jefferson asked, creeping slowly behind him.

“Let’s get them before they’ve fully armed themselves,” Williamson suggested.

“Wait for the boss’ orders,” Taylor instructed. “See those cars stopping on that street? There are definitely people going to end up watching this showdown. Here, or on their screens somewhere later. We don’t want to look bad.”

“But they’ll be all prepared by then!” Williamson protested.

“That doesn’t matter to us. We have Taylor on our side,” Jefferson insisted. “We already have the overwhelming advantage.”

Taylor smirked. Jefferson was good at flattering with truth. If he was required to make a mess by the end of all this, he might as well go in looking tidy and sharp. He adjusted his uniform to make sure it was without any creases. He rubbed his badge so it shone. If the media arrived in time to snap some photographs, a rather poignant before-and-after photo series might be obtained, he thought to himself jokingly. 

“What do you want?” the bouncer asked.

“What do you think?” Taylor replied, dusting his uniform with deliberate slowness.

“Something to do with the elections,” the bouncer said.

Xander, seeing the officer who had cleared him, spoke with uncharacteristic calmness. “Do you want to come in? The boss would like to have a chat with you.” 

“Ah! It’s you!” Taylor pointed at him when he realised who was speaking. “The wanted man. We searched all over for you, you little shit. You came back to your comfortable little home after all. Right after trying to kill us!”

“You all need to be taught a lesson. You will pay for the insult you gave us.” These criminals were not regular criminals. They couldn’t simply be given a light slap on the wrist. To have come all the way to their headquarters to make a statement? Who the hell would just swallow that? They needed to be decimated to truly make it memorable.

“Is this some ‘keeping us in line?’ bullshit?” Xander growled, drawing his gun as well. “To make yourselves think you are powerful? That you can beat the shit out of us whenever you like? Really, you need that many armed men? To put up this show?”

“It might be called a show. I won’t dispute that. But it’s not just a show.” He drew his Glock pistol from his holster.