Casian held out his shoulder cape towards Kogan’s sentries, letting it wave as a sign of surrender. The Triple Daggers, colored in white amidst a solid black backdrop—Casian’s infamous insignia—became distorted as the ragged linen ruffled in the breeze. Alon followed suit with the rest of the Gang; for the first time in his life, he held out his cape with his head low and his eyes doing anything but direct their attention at the man who bestowed it upon him.

“Have you gone mad?” shouted one of Kogan’s Sentries—a bald-headed, scarred, towering monstrosity. He aimed his crossbow at Casian from the edge of the opposing rooftop—with his fellow sentries marking the rest of the Gang two-fold.

“Kogan claims to be a man of honor, does he not? And he’s a man of the Lower Tier... That should be enough reason to grant me an audience with him.”

“You’re havin’ a laugh, aren’t ya? He’ll have your kneecaps smashed and throw the lot of ya’ into the Fog before you’ll ever step one foot in his hideout.”

The sentry cocked his crossbow again—despite the arrow already loaded in the track. Casian threw his cape over his left shoulder and clambered atop the chimney stack, cupping his hands over his mouth.

“Once you kill me and my crew, are you going to tell your boss that you failed to figure out where his stolen stash has been hidden too?” Casian hopped back down onto the roof, quickly steadying himself as to not slip on the tiles. With a quick glance back at Alon—and a wink—he shot his arms up in anticipation of the sentry's response.

“How about I shoot you right now and find the stash myself? I’m sure we’ll find it at some point—just like how we gutted your friends when we found your crummy little hideout!” The sentry spat off the roof and onto the street below, with the rest snickering in unison.

“An unforeseen error—luck—is how you found my hideout.”

The Voice in Alon’s head chortled. Alon’s gut sank deeper.

“Yet you know of me and what we can do! We managed to find and steal your food stash, did we not? I’m sure your boss would just ever-so appreciate to get it back!”

The sentry huffed and threw his crossbow into the arms of his friend standing to his right, hitting him in the jaw.

“Hurry up and get inside the hideout! We’ll be waiting past the entrance to take ya’ weapons and tie ya’ hands, so don’t try anything funny!”

Casian raised his hand in compliance and gestured for the Gang to follow him to climb down the side of the building.

“Oh!” shouted the sentry. “If you take too long in the Fog and begin to turn, I ain’t dragging you’s inside,’ so move ya' asses!”

Brook snickered, “Charming that one, isn’t he?”

“He doesn’t need to be charming; he just needs to be dumb enough to let us inside—isn’t that right Boss?” said Claude as he struggled to find his footing as he began descending down the building—helplessly trying to stay out of the Fog for as long as possible.

“He’s not stupid—well, he very well maybe for all I know—for letting us inside. Kogan may have his scouts combing the entire lower tier for people growing and hiding whatever food they have left, but even he must be getting desperate at this point.”

“Just like us,” Mythel mumbled, to the dismay of Brook.

Casian hesitated in his descent, grappling onto a window-sill.

“Not for long, though... Right Casian?” said Alon, looking down at him just as Casian’s waist sat within the Fog.

“No. Not for long.”

***

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” shouted Brook, kicking and tossing as he was dragged down the steps leading into the bathhouse.

“It’s fine, Brook. I'll be alright, I promise,” yelled Mythel, concerned far more for Brook’s lashing out than even the binds holding her hands behind her back.

“Shut your crying, will you?” One of Kogan’s men stepped out from his position guarding the steps leading towards the main chamber and back-handed Mythel across the cheek. Her head snapped toward Casian who now shared Brooks anger. Her eyes cried out and begged him for help behind the welling tears.

“Leave my crew alone! If you want to take your anger out on anyone, let it be me!” shouted Casian, trying to get back onto his feet—his shins banging against every step on his way down.

“Line them up on their knees in front of me,” boomed Kogan, slouching in the center of the chamber atop the stacked pile of rubble forming his throne. He pointed his dagger towards Casian, lowering his gaze. “Watch this one, however; This one is unpredictable.”

Alon’s hands trembled behind his back. His heart raced. His eyes darted around the room for an escape route—perhaps he could find another staircase leading up to the surface? Maybe there was a gap in the brickwork that led to a secret tunnel? Anything—There simply had to be something—

“You’re utterly pathetic; Must I do everything for you?” said the Voice, sarcastically imitating Casian.

Alon dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fist. He wanted nothing more than to use every breath stored within his lungs to yell and scream and cry. Yet... of course...

“Yes, you’ll give me away. Now listen!”

Alon dug his fingernails out of his hands and attempted to take back control of his breathing. He looked back around Kogan’s chamber: It was hard to see anything in the darkness, yet with the limited light coming from the torch scones scattered about each of the walls—and the four pillars situated in each corner—even he could see that the room was packed with members of Kogan’s Gang.

Figures. He and his crew have caused the Gang nothing but grief ever since Alon stole the food from them; He was starving near half to death—as was everyone else. He had to have done something!

“There’s fifteen in this room alone—five guarding the staircase, two posted by the front gates, and seven more in the room behind their leader's throne. Twenty-three are further within the bathhouse and their living quarters. Below the bathhouse, in tunnels, are hundreds of women and children... Your best option here is to listen to this pretender for the time being.” The Voice’s usual growl was replaced with what could he describe as a regular human tone—in an accent and cadence Alon had never heard before in his life, however.

“And, please; You don’t have to actually talk to me. I can read your thoughts.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

“I did so because I can! You’re not in a position to be asking questions, regardless, so you best pay attention to what this jester is about to say for both our sakes.”

Alon looked up at Kogan atop his throne: His blackened-blonde hair fell over the side of his head, with scars running across his scalp like the back-alleys of the city—explaining the clumps and pieces of hair missing. The right half of his jaw was burned to a crisp, running up his scowling face and down his neck, way beyond the top of his chest plate, which was similar—but in much better quality—than that of his men.

Casian’s work; Alon’s responsibility.

“Casian.”

“Kogan.”

Kogan raised himself off his throne, and sauntered his way towards Casian—who would’ve been dwarfed by the brute even had he not been put onto his knees. He looked down at Casian, with him meeting his gaze wholeheartedly. Kogan booted Casian in the side of his arm, smashing his head into the puddle sprawled out across the masonry. The impact echoed throughout the chamber, with the splash of the murky water following suit.

"So, Casian: After one long, painful month, you've put yourself right where I want you... here I thought I'd have to wait far longer and have much more of a challenge before I killed you, yet you've managed to surprise me once again."

Alon jumped up to his feet: fists clenched, brows furrowed and teeth grinding across one another.

"It was me! I stole your food! Casian had nothing to do with it!" shouted Alon, taking a firm step towards Kogan

Kogan punched Alon in the stomach before Alon could even consider dodging the blow, winding Alon as he crumpled back onto his knees.

“What did I tell you? You need to play your cards smart here for both our sakes! Calm down!” boomed the Voice, with its human tone once again being replaced by its usual growl.

“I can’t...”

“You can’t what? Repay everything you stole, you sorry sack of shit!” shouted Kogan, kicking Alon in the chest and throwing him onto his back. "Do you know how many of my men died trying to recover that stash?"

"We needed the food; We were starving," spluttered Alon, clutching his stomach to desperately claw even a fraction of his breath back.

Kogan placed his foot on the back of Alon's neck, pushing the back of his head into the water.

"What of the families under my protection? Have you considered the fact they now sit with empty bellies because you stole from me—from them?"

"You bastard! You stole that food first—none of the stuff you have here is yours!" shouted Claude, his face scrunched in disgust.

"Everything in the Lower Tier belongs to me and my people!" roared Kogan, who's anger slipped away to be replaced with a grimace. "Just like the lives of your merry gaggle of Fog-breathers if I so wish." Kogan pushed harder on Alon's neck. Alon—not taking the pain any longer—writhed underneath Kogan’s boot, carving canyons into the rotten leather with his fingernails as he clawed at the shoe.

Claude jumped to his feet and ripped the binds from his wrists—clocking Kogan in the jaw with all the strength he could possibly muster from a single fist, forcing the brute to stumble back a step.

“Alon!” shouted Claude, preparing himself for Kogan’s retaliation. “Are you alright?”

Kogan responded—far quicker than Claude could’ve anticipated for a man of his size—by sweeping Claude by the legs with his heel, pushing and slamming the back of his head down onto the ground. Claude shouted out in pain as his head collided with the stone.

“The next person to act out of line gets their neck slashed—understand? One way or another I will get it out of one of you, and you all don’t need to be alive for that to happen.”

Casian stumbled back onto his knees—barely. Blood seeped out of the opened gash above his left eyebrow. His vision was near half rendered useless from the blood pouring over his eye—and that was even without considering the concussion from his head hitting the ground.

“Leave them alone, Kogan! I ordered him to do it!” shouted Casian. “Take your anger out on me!”

Kogan looked over at Casian as he towered over Claude, granting him the precious gift of his inattention.

“We were starving—he knows the streets far better than anyone in my crew, and I told him to check a stash I had been tipped off about. I didn’t know it was yours.”

“Don’t you bullshit me!” roared Kogan, rushing over and grabbing Casian by the throat. “You knew what you were doing, you knew exactly what it was you were stealing... Everyone in this fucking tier knows me and my men! Don’t tell me you—of all people—wouldn’t have known...”

Casian gave himself a smirk in between his gasps for air.

“Perhaps Kogan; It matters not, however... I know where your stash is—and I can tell you. All you have to do is let us go—off the hook for good—and grant us one small favor.”

“A favor?” laughed Kogan. “My favor for the lot of you is that my blade isn’t piercing your hearts right now...”

“Of course, but this other favor you’re going to grant me won’t even cost any effort on your behalf—it’s utterly inconsequential,” said Casian, loosening his neck with his fingers out from Kogan’s iron grip.

“Oh, and do tell just exactly what that is” snarked Kogan.

“I have heard rumors about your men stumbling across an old Manor the Hunters frequent often during a scavenge. I wish to know where it is in exchange for the location of your stash.”

Kogan loosened his grip and got back onto his feet properly. He stumbled back—bewildered—as if he had been slashed across the face.

“You’re insane.”

“Do you want the food back or not? Just tell me where it is. I’ll give you the location and we can be on our way.”

“Are you tired of living, Casian? What business do you have with the Hunters?”

“My business is my own. Just tell me where it is.”

Kogan stepped back and sat on his throne—kneeling over, looking at Casian, tapping his leg with his hands holding his chin.

“And you’re just going to give me my food back, for this? An entire food stash for a one-way ticket to a suicide mission?”

“Yes.”

Kogan nodded at his men, who responded by gathering their gear from the weapon and armor racks strewn about the chamber.

“Where’s my food then?”

“Manor first.”

“Food. Now.”

“You said the Manor’s location was worthless to you, was it not?”

Kogan rubbed his face and stood. “Very well. The Manor is right next to wall to the North. It’s got a huge orange window in the front that you can’t miss, and it’s situated near the old church—you’re aware of it? With the large spire?”

“I am—the one with the three spokes jutting from the top?”

“The very one...” said Kogan, who had begun combing through his gear on the table behind his throne, gearing himself up with daggers in his boots, and his jagged mace slung across his back for the journey ahead. “And now, my stash—where is it?”

Casian rose to his feet, with Alon and Claude following suit. Brook crawled over to Mythel, checking and cleaning her cut face with his shirt—who had already broken free of her binds. She sheathed the dagger she had hidden underneath her shoulder cape as she allowed Brook to cater to her cuts and bruises.

"The next man that touches you will die, you hear me? I won't let you come to any more harm." said Brook, holding Mythel's face within his hands.

"I'm sure you will."

Casian wiped the blood from his brow with the back of his hand and wiped it on his trouser, in-able to conceal his smile towards Kogan.

“Why, Kogan; It has been where you most expected all along. It's buried beneath the cobbles in the sewers—our old hideout.”

Kogan raised his hand with hesitation, alongside his eyebrow with curiosity. He couldn’t help but smile before smacking Casian in the jaw with the back of his hand, sending Casian’s head spinning away from him.

"Fair enough," said Casian, not helping but reciprocate Kogan’s dry, humourless grin.

“Good. I’ll send my men there to collect it right away.”

Casian’s eyes widened as he darted his head back to meet Kogan’s gaze.

“You’re not going to get it yourself? What are you talking about?”

“No Casian, I’m not.”

Casian shook his head slightly and looked around at Kogan's men rushing around the chamber gathering their gear and the chests they’d need to bring the food back.

“Then what are you doing? Staying here whilst your men risk their lives getting the stash?”

Kogan slowly stepped and squared up to Casian—staring into his eyes.

“Never.”

“Then what?” said Casian, searching for any possible answer that'd explain this utter mystery.

“There's no way I’m not coming with you.”