The Industrialist

"Here," Lance handed a handgun to Damian as he unclasped a bundle of metal pipes from his knapsack. Damian had a knapsack too which stored something of value.

Weapons were prohibited in the boundaries of Bloomforge Sectors and most of the Inland Sectors of some sort. However, Lance managed to slip through metal detectors, obscuring illegal merchandise in a bundle of randomly formed metal clippings, shards, sheets, and pipes.

Beneath the bundle, the scrapper sheathed their weapons to avoid detection. They should be ready at all times. As Roger taunted, Jonaz Enterprises was an originating Black Market group. The original Mafia as he gruesomely defined it. Lance placed his Laser Blade Hunting knife in its scabbard behind his back underneath his clothes.

Damian holstered his gun in his waist behind his shirt. The weapons they brought would not suffice to kill all the Mafia members, rather, their weapons served different purposes for the beholder. Damian brought a handgun to defend themselves if the situation dictates. He also felt naked without a gun out of his reach.

On the other hand, Lance brought his Laser-bladed knife for confidence boosting. He had zero skills when it came to skirmishes and obviously, also in hand-to-hand combat. Even though their safety relied solely on the ex-military, he should have a weapon to defend himself.

They continued to press on a narrow alley. It was not dark but it was quiet. Lucky for Lance, he was used to the dark gloomy streets of Steelpoint, however, what the shadows obscured the unknown dangers irked him to his immense fear.

His fingertips had this weird coldness, shrinking the skin underneath his fingernails. He was stiff as he started to amble, every step he took was effortful. Damian, as usual, bullied Lance’s obvious fear emanating from the latter’s body language.

"Now, who’s talking," Damian teased. Lance frequented his visits to Bloomforge Enclave every time he had dealings. However, sauntering within narrow and dangerous-looking roads, like the one they had at the moment, crept gooseflesh along his back, tickling its way in at the rear of his eyeballs. Provided him an involuntary minute shaking of his head, his eyeballs seemed to bulge out.

His stares never left to where the alley would lead them. His heart thumped fast, hammering hard against his chest. Damian’s arms just swayed freely, whistling as he walked.

"Shut up, Damian!" Lance retorted. "Don’t take these guys lightly. They are Mafia for Science’s sake!"

LED street bulbs lined up along the alleyway provided no surprise attacks thus a handgun would be unnecessary. In any case, having a gun on anyone’s hand would present an increased probability that one can get shot.

The echoing music and thunderous sound systems that played Unitech’s advertisement had failed to reach within the constricted alleyways, hence, the quietness.

As he craned his head, his vision striking through the topmost edges of the buildings, heaving strobe lights from different directions, looked like lasers firing randomly.

’It was a party out there,’ Lance thought. ’And zero party in here.’

"Just around the corner, we can see a sign board that says ’Jonaz Enterprises,’" Lance said, his voice shaking every waking second closer to their destination.

"I have been fighting against monsters for all my life, now it’s the time to test my skills among men," The Ex-soldier was clearly excited. He even shadowboxed as he said those words.

The alleyway took them to another left turn. However, the narrow road became wider and possessed brighter illumination than the previous one. At the end of the alleyway, about a few meters farther, a neon-light-filled signage was discernable from where they stood.

’Jonaz Enterprises,’ Lance read the signboard in his thoughts.

"Do you really need to do this kid? This seemed dangerous." Damian suggested, finding some reassurance from the immensely fearful boy.

"Well, we don’t come here to fight them, Damian. We are here to deal."

Below the signage was a single metallic door. On each side, stood two well-dressed black-clad bodyguards. Lance and Damian stopped to where the first flight of stairs hit their toes.

As Lance began to speak, a goon sneaked behind Damian. Lance halted and as he squinted back, he saw a blade’s tip almost kissing Damian’s throat with the perp’s other arm wrapped around the ex-soldier’s waist. The perp’s body was close to Damian’s, leaving the latter without room to breathe and restricted sudden movements.

"Who are you?" The perp’s voice was hoarse as if tar had conquered his lungs.

As Lance was about to start explaining, Damian pulled his neck out with his right free hand twisted the perp’s wrist, and disarmed the knife in the process. His movements were at lightning speed and in the blink of Lance’s eye, the perp was dislodged away from Damian with a bleeding nose and the knife clanking on the ground.

The perp rustled a few steps back and crashed to a slippery corner that resulting his fall.

The perp’s grapple seemed tight, however, the ex-soldier was somehow trained in self-defense.

"You little.." The perp squirmed like a girl while his hand wiped away the blood that rushed out his nose. Trying to recover his dignity, the perp hauled himself immediately.

He had his two friends witnessing a shameful display of his skill and he clearly wanted redemption.

"Rigor!" A calm voice interjected the ruckus. It was the goon on the right that guarded the door. "Enough! This is our visitors, let them be." Rigor was silenced and picked the blade up from the ground. His blood still dripped onto his black-clad clothing and grunted his way to the metallic door in front of them.

His deathly stares trained unto Lance and occasionally squinted at Damian.

’If he attacks me, I will bury my blade to his thigh,’ Confidence conquered his thoughts, surprisingly.

"We want to see Jonas," Lance said after Rigor leaned against the metallic door behind the two bodyguards. "We are going to offer a deal." He was poised right after watching a menacing-looking goon embarrassingly handled by his partner.

"I understand," the guard responded. His demeanor did not match his bald head with a single tattoo on his chin. It was a tribal design. He had shades like Lance and Damian had. His smooth silky clothing emphasized his upper body, muscles popped out apparently under stretchable garments.

The other guy, adjacent to where he stood, had almost the same features but he had a mohawk instead, unmatching his unhostile baby face.

"It’s our custom to enter this room weapons-free. Please submit your weapons in this box," The guard pointed to a simple black box, like a trash box, that sits idly at the side of his right foot.

The goon intimidated Lance which froze his brain function, but it was Damian who took a step forward and responded.

"I think that’s not possible, pal," Damian responded. "Our weapons should stay with us. We don’t trust you guys."

"Then whatever you came here for, please turn back and return if you don’t wish to comply with our rules." The goon retorted.

"Ok. Ok." Lance intervened. He patted Damian’s back. "We will submit our weapons."

The Rebels was a fearsome group of ex-soldiers, ex-politicians, freedom fighters, and more that could contribute to the cause. The Media had augmented stories of how the rebels terrorized various Sectors.

Lance knew that only a portion of it was true. Such undebatable truth where the rebels are armed and dangerous. Dangerous to the Corporation and the Government but not to the innocent citizens.

If they had to reveal that Damian was a rebel, they would have gained the other party’s respect. But it would compromise their business dealings.

"Are you sure, kid?" Damian asked. "These guys could trick us."

"It’s fine, Damian. We come here with good intentions."

The metallic door opened for them and they were invited in, weapons-free.

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