Argotte: Gangland

Here we go. A little preview of things to come. Something I wrote on a whim a while ago. I believe it's been almost two years since I first put this story to virtual-paper actually. Here ya go:

Marcus couldn't help his reaction at what he saw in front of him: Civilization. He smiled...

Well, he smirked at least, which is the best he could manage with all the frown lines permanently engraved into his face. Something about the bright and sunny atmosphere of the small town of Argotte made him feel content despite his current predicament. He had just left the megalopolis Xanflux not three hours ago, and he decided a leisurely stop through the satellite village wouldn't be such a terrible idea. After all, lately it was all Marcus could do to find time for a moment of rest amidst the madness. Aurora and the others split paths with Marcus only a day ago, and yet their safety weighed heavy on his thoughts. Sure, Ace was the most imposing figure he'd ever seen on two legs, and the other two were the furthest from push-overs that you could possibly imagine. Still, Marcus felt pangs of worry ever since their separation, especially after he'd had a run in with some of President Alexander's men. No Knights, luckily - but then again maybe the Knights just went after the larger group.

Whatever...

Marcus did the only thing he could - he stopped thinking about it and dropped by one of the local pubs for a bite to eat. The only indication that the small one-story wooden shack wasn't abandoned was the superfluous amount of smoke billowing up out of the windows of the place. Like something out of an ancient spaghetti western, the joint had rotted batwing doors that looked like they might fall off of the hinges if the winds picked up too much. Either way, Marcus was hungry and the food within, he imagined, had to be cheap.

Cautiously, Marcus took his first step inside and glanced around before walking in. The first thing that was immediately evident was the source of all of that smoke. The place wreaked of cigarettes and ashes practically covered the tables as if the patrons inside had never heard of an ashtray. Marcus took it all in - what he could make out through the smoke at least - as he moved to the bar and sat down. To accentuate the already inviting decor - more rotted wood on the walls and floors, chipped paint everywhere with unrecognizable stains, and a leaky ceiling with only the dimmest of lighting - there was some dried puke in the far corner of the building under a table where a couple of rough looking guys were engaging in an arm-wrestling competition. One of the men eyed Marcus briefly as he looked around, giving off something that wouldn't accurately be described as a friendly vibe.

"I'll have the pastrami on rye with some ice water," Marcus called to the server as he settled in, deciding to mind his own business for the greater good.

He was acknowledged with a nod by the tanned, bushy haired man at the counter, who was fiddling a toothpick around in his mouth full of dark yellow teeth. It was hard to get a good look at the man through the "atmosphere", but that was probably a good thing considering the fact that Marcus was about to be eating.

As he ate Marcus considered what he'd need for the remainder of the solo portion of this trip. The group had agreed to meet up in Kalimthras, but that was still days from here - well, days on foot. But Marcus had no choice other than to travel on the ground as he tried to keep a low profile for the moment. The others were most likely going by train and boat, and at some point Marcus would need to find alternate forms of transportation to overcome the obvious obstacle of the ocean, but not yet.

Marcus reached into his wallet after taking his last bite of food and, with a groan of unpleasant surprise, pulled from it what little money he had left.

He threw his last five Republic silver coins on the bar and left in search of a place to sleep. The sun was going down and to travel through the forests leading to shore would be ridiculous with all of the creatures that come out in the pitch-black of night. Marcus cringed at the thought. Tree ants were the only thing that even remotely scared him, and they were indigenous to nearly any forested area on Syrias.

Marcus stepped into the only inn in town. The attendant was napping. Marcus smirked and crept past silently, creeping upstairs and into an unoccupied room virtually noiselessly. If he could leave early enough in the morning, no one would ever know and he'd have had a free nap. If not, then a messier - but still free - nap. The place was no five star establishment for sure, but the creaky floors and roach-ridden sheets would have to do. After hitting the bed, it only took Marcus a second to pass out. He didn't even bother to take off his boots.

---- Sometime later that night ----

Marcus awoke with a start. His peaceful slumber was interrupted by a loud noise...the distinct pop of small arms fire rang out from somewhere outside. Marcus rolled out of bed feeling groggy, rolling his neck to get rid of the uncomfortable tightness, and stumbled weakly to the window to look around below. His eyes widened immediately at what he could make out through the fog of sleep.

In an alleyway beside the inn, a man in a suit lay dead - his body was riddled with bullet wounds decorated with spatters of crimson - with a small group of young thugs crowded around him. They all wore black bandannas or ski masks, and carried automatic weapons. One was crouched down, searching the fresh corpse for valuables, as the others quietly joked and talked amongst themselves. All were huddled closely around the corpse, waiting to see the spoils of their work.

Marcus seethed with anger. He'd seen this sort of tough-guy posturing before. Intimidating the weak was never impressive, but thugs like these thrived on it. Marcus could only shake his head as he slid the window open.

"Hey motherfucker, not so rich now are ya?!"

The gang roared with laughter as their ski-masked leader slapped the lifeless man on the cheek before rising to his feet, pocketing the credit cards and cash from the victim's wallet.

"Let's get out of..."

A man stumbled out from behind the inn and grabbed the gang leader by the shoulders to lift himself back up, staggering backward and chuckling, evidently intoxicated. The gang leader shoved the drunk man and swiftly pulled a knife from his hip and drove it deep into the man's arm.

That was it.

Suddenly Marcus looked up into the thug's eyes, his gaze cold and filled with hate. The miming of a drunken stupor was replaced instantly by a rigid and aware state to further illustrate and accompany the anger in his eyes. Marcus gripped the hand of the gang leader that was being used to hold the knife and squeezed. With a series of loudly audible snaps, bones were broken and the leader howled in pain as Marcus growled and twisted the knife deeper into his wound before releasing the thug's broken hand. The gangster stumbled back, and before he could blink Marcus wrenched the knife free from his arm with a painful wince and threw it with startling accuracy, hitting his target right between the eyes. With a thud, the lifeless body of the gang's former leader hit the ground, and Marcus let out a bloodthirsty roar.

"The rest of you lowlifes want some!!??"

Every single man raised his weapon and readied it to fire as one stepped forward to speak.

"Who do you think you're messing with, punk? We OWN this town! Let's see you fight a gun!" the man taunted as the gang responded with an uproar of obscenities.

Marcus grinned. "You bring up a good point. Fighting a gun is a terrible idea..." Marcus slowly reached down into his left jacket pocket, casually revealing a grenade, his thumb held firmly under the pin. "...but shooting one of these is even worse. Always come prepared, I say." The thugs staggered backward almost in unison, all visibly horrified as they attempted to regain their composure - and control of the situation - by raising their guns once again.

"We ain't scared of you! This is our city!" the new leader yelled behind a wall of false confidence as his men stood frozen behind him, not wanting to make the first move. The gang was sweating bullets as the silence grew unbearable. This standoff with an apparent madman was destroying their collective will.

"You know what, I've decided that you guys are taking too long." Marcus remarked impatiently as he suddenly ripped the pin free from the hand held explosive. Panic ensued as everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The grenade dropped from Marcus' hand as men fled in all directions, leaving their guns behind to run faster while crying out in fear. At last, with a clack the explosive hit the ground, rolled, and came to rest at Marcus' feet.

A few seconds passed in the now vacant alley.

Silence.

At last Marcus dropped the pin anticlimactically and, hands in pockets, strolled nonchalantly out of the alleyway and on his way out of Argotte, whistling a wistful tune.

The toy grenade rolled harmlessly on the sidewalk as Marcus kicked it along.


Figured a bunch of thugs would have been smart enough to know the difference. Lucky they didn't I suppose...


And that's all for now! Hopefully I'll have some time to post a little bit more in the coming days to give readers a bit of insight into the specifics of this universe so things don't get too cryptic as more is added to the blog. Anyway, thanks for dropping by. As always, there's more to come, so don't stop checking.


- The Maelstrom