Although he had already been plagued by nightmares for some time before that, the last two days had been particularly nerve-wracking for George Froko. The short chubby scam artist who wore more expensive clothes than he could safely afford had long since realized he had made a terrible mistake in antagonizing the latest monster lurking in the darkness of Zalcien with his antics. He had barely slept since the subject of his fear had warned him one last time, threatening his life in the middle of his favorite bar while it was crowded, smacking him and the bartender around as though they were children picked on by a professional soldier.

Two days. He had been given two days to begin a brand information network for the monster in the guise of a shadow, as well as find a place for it to live and start its nefarious scheme, whatever it was. The human with frog ancestry wanted no part of whatever the creature had going on, and as soon as it let him know his debt was paid, he would be out of there. Well, that possibility was tragically shot down the moment he realized he couldn't succeed.

He had done his best, really. He even asked other crooks for help, paying them with either cash he had kept for himself or with items from the junkyard he shared with his brother. He hadn't told his sibling much, only that he had to call some favors and needed to pay. He knew about George's scamming habits, the way he went to the slums and ripped off the locals when possible by selling them trash items that still looked good, in much better shape than those found in the poor area but emptied of any interesting components to be sold at their true clients perfectly legally at the junkyard, and in fact, the whole business venture was a partnership between the two of them. It had been going on ever since they began to have problems paying the rent of their home, and the chubby liar had to admit they technically could stop doing it if it were not for his habit to keep some of the money they earned to himself, but hey, it wasn't like they were hurting anyone that mattered.

He could have asked him for help. For all his boasting about coming up with the scam plan in the first place, George couldn't deny his brother was the true smart one of the pair, though a little naive. Yes, he could have just asked his more gifted brother to find a solution or aid him in his search, but that would mean involving him in what had to be the greatest mistake in George's life, and the overweight man wouldn't let his brother fall with him. He might have dubious morals, but he had limits. Even if the shadow threatened to engulf his very soul and forever deny him an afterlife, stuck in eternal torment in whatever hell served as the demon's stomach... Alright, he would take a second to think about it. But he'd still say no! Certainly. Probably. Maybe. Possibly.

"Take a deep breath, George. It's all going to be okay."

The chubby man looked to his side to take in the sight of his companion this evening, the bartender of the place Silhouette had designed as their meeting point, Joe. The black man with small white horns fit for a ram wasn't wearing his usual work attire, instead, he was dressed in street clothes and holding a shotgun, primed and ready to fire at any time. The weapon had failed to be useful the last time the shadow showed up, but the firearm helped both men feel a little safer anyway. It was as though they weren't completely defenseless, despite the fact they had both been completely powerless the last time.

The two were the only ones in the bar, Joe had chosen to close it down for this encounter from the moment the darkness had declared he would return to collect his due. Frankly, the taller man could have just waited outside for George's imminent demise following his failure, but either he was that worried about the scammer stealing one last bottle of alcohol on his way to the great beyond or their friendship went a little further than that of a bartender and one of their regulars. He preferred not to ask now, if he was going to die he might as well go down thinking someone other than his brother cared about him.

"I'm just making my peace, Joe. Do you think I'm going to hell or whatever they have planned up there, or will I drown in an endless abyss?"

"Come on, man. It's not like he promised to kill you."

"He told me I'd better not disappoint him, and guess what? I failed."

"Even so, maybe he'll be cool and just break a few bones. What's what I'd do."

"You promise?"

"Yeah. You ain't gonna die tonight, George."

The friendly smile on the bartender's lips turned into something a little more strained.

"You still have a tab to clear, eh?"

The shorter man sniffed loudly, not realizing he was crying. He looked up to Joe and did his best to reciprocate the carelessness the joke tried to invoke, his teeth chattering as he fought against his terror to have his face take on any expression that wasn't a scared or nervous grimace. He failed, his mug turning into of the ugliest visages the darker man had ever seen, but he played it off with a chuckle that sounded fake to anyone but the desperate scammer's ears. George wasn't the only one worried about what would happen when the nightmare arrived, and it was only the shorter man's desperate subconscious search for reassurance that blinded him to the bartender's fears. The hands that held the shotgun were shaking, and the horned man doubted his ability to hit his target even if it stayed still and didn't go for his weapon.

"Yeah. I'll pay you back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, then."

The two comforted themselves with the other's presence through the surrounding silence, and it took a few seconds for them both to realize that the decrease of the brilliance of the light illuminating them didn't come from the setting of Solas Stellis, their planet's sun, but rather tendrils of darkness that covered the glass of the windows and snuffed out the light. Soon only the neons inside the bar let them see, and a figure emerged from the shadows like a long-forgotten titan from the waters, black liquid dripping down the spiky shoulders in rivets as tendrils followed in the creature's wake, wriggling in the air as though an abyssal monster in search of sustenance. The silence that had surrounded the two men lost all of the warmth and comfort they had managed to fight their fears for, only dread and tension being left as the shadow approached them.

"Gentlemen. It is good to see you didn't try to flee your responsibilities this time. We wouldn't be here today if you had shown this sort of behavior in the past, mister Froko."

"Mister Silhouette. I hope you are doing well."

"Let's skip the chit-chat, mister Froko. You are not the center of the universe, there are things beyond you that need my attention, and I'd rather be handling them than tying up your loose end. Make your report. Now."

The chubby gulped loudly, and the other persons present here could swear his saliva made a visible bulge in his throat as it traveled down his esophagus.

"Well... The good news is, thanks to the other patrons of the bar, I did manage to set up a little information network. Nothing too great, but enough word of mouth to cover this entire area relatively quickly. Well, to be more precise, we managed to worm our way into an existing network, and slowly spread the idea that you would be a good client, one worth contacting early on."

"I see... This isn't quite what I had in mind when I gave you this task."

The scammer instinctively stepped back, his knee wobbling so much he almost fell.

"But, it should be sufficient for the short term, until my people are ready to take over and perform their usual missions."

George closed his eyes as he let out a sigh of relief. When he opened them once more, Silhouette's faceless visage was a breath away from his face and he had to fight with all of his energy to hold himself back from screaming and jumping away from the abyss that stared down at him.

"Your wording did imply bad news, however. Out with it."

"I-I... I couldn't a place fit for you. All I had were crack dens and shacks, and then taking over the most popular ones would anger the local gangs. I'm so sorry! Please don't kill me!"

The chubby man fell to his knees as he begged, and his hands against his better judgment subconsciously grabbed onto the solid mass of darkness as he sometimes did the clothes of those he angered with his schemes and manipulations. His eyes widened through his fear and separation when he felt the cold tar-like mass slipping through his fingers, an otherworldly black mist spreading to caress his skin before he was suddenly hulled up, his head hitting the ceiling with enough strength to pull him out of his thoughts without risking knocking him out.

"I did not invite you to touch me, mister Froko."

The click of metal echoed, and George turned his head the best he could with a tentacle grasping his neck to see Joe aiming his shotgun at the shadow's head, the bartender trembling in his boots as he did his best to threaten the creature that had easily subdued him the last time he had pulled his weapon on it.

"Let him go, freak."

The black figure appeared to turn its head, though it was hard to tell with its body's color and how it absorbed all light touching it. The oval shape too odd to be human appeared to focus on the bartender for an eternity. The horned man's grimace turned more and more frustrated as the creature refused to obey, though it never managed to overcome his fear of it.

Something black flashed in Joe's vision, and in a blink, he realized his weapon had been cut in half, and its remains were even further falling apart. Metal bits fell and dinged against the floor, and the wood of the handle rotted before his very eyes as all that was left of his only means of defense disappeared in the ever-famished darkness, the shadows growing shaper as one by one the neons that had been left untouched disappeared beneath the writhing black mass or the chilling mist until the only source of illumination left was a small part of a neon light in a corner left mercifully uncovered, unlike the rest of its surface. Joe could hardly distinguish George in these conditions, and the feeling of invisible serpents slithering up his limbs quickly took all of the mental focus he had left to try and make sense of what his eyes managed to decipher.

"I do not appreciate weaponry being aimed at me either, mister Joe."

The appendage that had been almost crushing George's windpipe released its hold and let the chubby man fall to the floor, though more tendrils still kept on twisting and twirling all around both men, making it quite clear that they could be restrained or killed just as easily as if they were directly held in the shadow's grasp.

"Luckily for you, mister Froko, one of my associates provided me with a wondrous location for my operations. Still, your inability to complete your task to the fullest means you have yet to repay your debt to me. What of apartments with low standards for tenants? Some of my employees would appreciate those."

"I... We found a few! Not great ones, but, they don't ask questions so long as they get their money!"

"Good, good. Then, there is one last thing you may do for me, after which you will never have to interact with me again."

"What is it, o great Silhouette?"

"A man by the name of Ivan Decanov may be looking for materials soon. I want you and your junkyard to assist him to the best you can. Contact him, sell him everything you have at a reduced price to him, and fulfill his every wish so long as it is within your abilities. If you're lucky and he finds your work satisfactory, he may even decide to establish a long-term partnership. Men of science like to have reliable providers."

The scam artist vigorously nodded, ignoring the pain that formed at the base of his neck as he put his spine to the test in the greatest display of submission and acceptance as he could, the pudge on his frame jiggling even through his exorbitant clothing, tears freely flowing from the corner of his eyes as he seized this chance to keep on living. Joe meanwhile still looked on edge, his fingers twitched in search of a firearm that was no longer there, and the horned man never felt as defenseless as he did now as he felt things crawling up and down his back, unseen terrors he knew would never leave his mind.

"Good, good. Make a list of the apartments you found and their addresses, as well as their prices and general state. As for Decanov, a man of his standing must have a reputation."

"Y-Yes, yes, I know him. The robot who keeps blowing things up."

"Contact him yourself, but mention I am the one who informed you about his need for resources. He should be more open to trade if he hears my name."

"O-Of course, sir."

"Now, the list. Would you prefer to tell me now, or would you rather wait one more day, to have the time to put it on paper?"

"I have it here! It's here, let me just..."

The man began to search through his pockets, emptying them one by one on the floor without a thought in his desperate quest until at last he found the folded sheet of paper he had been looking for and handed it to the dark figure, slim black tentacles taking it from his fat fingers before pulling it inside the body of the creature.

"Thank you for your hard work, mister Froko. If you're in luck, this will be the last time we meet."

"Uhm, mister Silhouette? Before you go, may you remove the mark you left on me? The black spot on my back?"

"You still have a debt to pay, mister Froko. And even when your deal with Decanov is done, I will not be able to remove what I have placed on you. Such things cannot be dismissed, not even by me. Take this as a lesson for the future. Do not meddle with forces you fail to understand, or risk being forever changed. You had the fortune of staying alive this time, the next entity you anger may not be as merciful as I was."

The shadows throughout the bar coalesced back into Silhouette, and for the first time since he had met the master of darkness on that fateful in the slums, George could see the creature without any tentacles or a black mist covering the surroundings. It made the odd unsettling thing almost look normal, compared to the nightmarish apparition it had weaved around itself both times it had visited this building. It nodded to him and Joe one last time before heading for the exit, opening the door that the bartender had locked on his way in as though it were simply a client leaving after a drink or two.

The two men still in the bar embraced the peaceful silence and warmth of the sunlight for a long moment before the horned one addressed his chubbier regular.

"You owe me a new gun."