Zero checked his phone.
8:03 PM
Every step felt like broken glass grinding under his ribs. A tight ache clawed from gut to spine, and his breath hitched if he moved too fast.
But he kept moving.
The red light district was only a kilometer away if he cut through the alleyways. But Zero took the longer route—two kilometers along the main streets. Twice the distance, but he wouldn't get mugged by some desperate hooligan. He had nothing worth taking, but that wouldn't stop them from putting a knife in him out of frustration.
The walk took half an hour.
His legs burned. He'd never had such an intense physical day. He should have taken better care of himself, should have focused on something other than just surviving. When that blonde bastard pinned him, Zero had been helpless. Completely outmatched.
I need to work with whatever I have.
The only time he'd come here before was to take out a loan for his initial cancer research. It hadn't been cheap. He'd repaid it working three jobs, barely sleeping, eating one meal a day if he was lucky.
No wonder he was malnourished.
Zero turned down a side street where neon signs painted the asphalt in shades of pink and red. Practically naked women called out from doorways, reaching for him as he passed. When he ignored them, they cursed.
He'd expected it this time.
The alleyway leading down was darker. Looked like the kind of place where organs got harvested.
Funny.
Zero descended the stairs carefully, arrived at a thick metal gate.
He knocked seven times. Exactly seven.
Then said, "Knock knock."
A deep voice came from inside. "Who's there?"
This was embarrassing. But the druggie from his apartment who'd brought him here the first time had been very clear: never mess up the code, or you're in big trouble.
Zero cleared his throat.
"The bitch in heat who is thirsty."
"How thirsty?"
"Down bad thirsty."
The gate creaked open.
How the hell did they set this code up? Zero thought. It's like a humiliation ritual.
Inside, a giant bodyguard stood waiting. Strapped with an obvious sidearm. Zero moved past him down the hall, noting that everyone here was armed. Not just armed—openly carrying.
The hallway opened into a larger space. Lights strobed in different colors. Loud music pounded from speakers. Women in short, tight dresses served drinks and engaged in other activities Zero preferred to ignore.
He found his destination.
A bald bartender with a thick beard stood behind a counter, wiping down glasses.
"What do you want?"
Zero kept his face expressionless and his voice low under the music.
"Horse piss."
The bartender pointed at one of the women. "Follow her. She'll take you to quench your thirst."
What the hell does 'quench your thirst' mean? This bald fucker is playing too much, this was not in the script...
But Zero couldn't say anything. He was a lamb here. Everyone had guns. He was a skinny, average-height nineteen-year-old with nothing.
He did appreciate that they didn't care how he looked. Scary from one perspective. Good from his.
He followed the woman through another hallway, arrived at a separate back room.
The noises coming from inside stopped him.
Shouting. A man's voice—harsh, rhythmic. Another voice begging, breaking on sobs.
This wasn't like last time.
The woman didn't hesitate. She opened the door and gestured for him to enter.
Zero couldn't stop now.
He stepped inside.
The door shut behind him.
A man knelt on the floor, held down by two large bodyguards gripping his shoulders.
In front of him stood another man—younger than Zero expected, maybe twenty-five. Clean-shaven. Dressed in a stylish baggy t-shirt and loose ripped jeans, the kind Zero had seen college kids wearing. Despite his age and size—he was shorter than Zero—there was nothing soft about him.
He held a gun.
Shoved it into the kneeling man's mouth.
Music played in the background, bass thumping.
Boom chick. Boom boom chick.
The young man slapped the kneeling man with his left hand, violently, in time with the beat.
Not missing a single one.
Talented, Zero thought, then immediately felt disgusted with himself for thinking it.
"How are you gonna repay us?" SLAP. "Next day?" SLAP. "Next day?" SLAP.
"J-just give me one more—"
"My ears are bleeding from hearing it." SLAP. "Tell me."
The kneeling man sobbed, words garbled around the gun barrel. "Plwwwsss... guuve me... lwwtle moore twwwme..."
Saliva dripped down the gun.
"I told you this wasn't a charity when I lent you that hundred K, didn't I, you motherfucker?" SLAP.
The man's face was swollen, red and purple blooming across his cheeks.
The young man with the gun pulled it free, stepped back.
"This one's a bad person. Send him to Michael. The Saints are always hungry." He smiled. "No one escapes with our money."
One of the bodyguards taped the kneeling man's mouth with duct tape, picked him up like a chicken, and carried him toward a door at the back of the room.
Zero's stomach dropped.
Saints. There was a hospital in this city that started with Saints. And how were they going to get their hundred thousand from a man who couldn't pay?
They really do harvest organs.
It hadn't been dark humor earlier. It was the truth.
The young man turned, noticed Zero for the first time, and smiled.
"Take a seat, kid."
He gestured to a sofa across from where he sat.
Zero moved carefully, sat down. Kept his expression neutral.
"You're here again." The young man leaned back, gun resting casually on his knee. "Did you see that bad guy earlier? He wasn't giving us our money. I sent him to our little Michael to be taken care of. I wasn't bad, was I?"
Zero met his eyes.
"Of course not, sir. You did the right thing. He was the bad guy for not giving you your money."
"Oh, you're still calling me 'sir.'" The man laughed. "You don't have to. Haha."
"You're a smart lad, you know that? I wish everyone was good and smart like you." He tilted his head. "I remember you paid me back on time five months ago. You're such a lovely kid."
Zero knew this man liked being called 'sir.' Had picked up on that cue the first time, awkward as it had been.
"Of course, sir. I had to pay you back on time."
"Alright, alright. Now tell me—how much do you need? You're clearly not here to chat with me."
Zero didn't hesitate.
"I need one hundred thousand."
Silence.
The young man's smile faded slightly. He studied Zero with new interest.
"That's a dangerous number you just pulled out, kid." His voice dropped, lost its playful edge. "I won't ask why you need such a sum. Not our business. We lend to anyone who needs it, whether it's the devil himself."
He leaned forward.
"Sure, I'll give you the hundred K. But you saw what happens when people don't return our money on time, didn't you?" The smile returned, but colder now. "Just because you have good manners and I like you, I won't hesitate to send you to meet Michael. We collect our money and interest one way or another."
Zero kept his voice calm. No sugar coating.
"Of course, sir. You can have one of my kidneys if I can't repay you. It'll easily get you two hundred thousand. As gracious as you are, you shouldn't take a loss."
The atmosphere in the room shifted—became deadly. But the young man's eyes held amusement, like he was talking to something fascinating.
"You're not only well-mannered, you're smart. Such a great and nice customer you are."
He reached behind the sofa, pulled out a duffel bag. From inside, he took out ten stacks of one hundred one-hundred-dollar bills.
One hundred thousand dollars.
He folded them in old newspaper, wrapped a rubber band around the bundle, and pushed it across the table to Zero.
"You have three months, kid. Ten percent interest, as usual." His smile widened. "If you don't repay on time, you're going to meet Michael. He has a habit of being a little rough sometimes. But for you, I'll tell him to be as gentle as possible. Am I not a good man?"
Zero nodded.
"Of course, sir. You're a great man. Really kind and generous."
The young man started laughing—loud, almost hysterical. The bodyguards side-eyed each other.
Zero took the money.
But he didn't stand. Didn't leave.
The laughter stopped.
"Why aren't you leaving?"
Zero met his gaze.
"Sir, I also need weapons. I heard you have the most extensive variety in the entire red light district."
He was lying. He'd never heard that. But he knew they sold weapons.
The young man's expression shifted to something like pride.
"Oh, you heard correctly. We are the best in the entire district."
The bodyguards side-eyed each other again, nodding slightly. This kid had read their boss like a book in the two times he'd visited.
"Just tell me what you need. We'll bring it here."
Zero's face remained perfectly calm.
"Bulletproof vest. The best you have. The best sniper rifle you have. Your best assault rifle. Scopes—every kind. A couple handguns. Glocks, I've heard they're the best. Suppressors. A few grenades. Stun grenades. Smoke bombs. Gas mask. Thermal binoculars. Regular ones. A bulletproof helmet. Lots of bullets." He paused. "And if you have any other equipment that might help, I'd appreciate it if you'd show me."
Another pause.
"Sir, do you have small area bombs? I'd like some of those too."
Silence.
The boss man's mouth hung open.
The bodyguards stared, jaws slack.
Zero looked at them with the same calm expression, as if he hadn't just said something outrageous.
As if he were ordering groceries.
The boss man blinked. Blinked again.
Then he leaned forward, eyes narrowing like he was finally seeing Zero for the first time.
"Tell me the truth, kid."
"You planning to start a war?"
End of Chapter Two