Conticent

Leo and I exchanged a quick glance before instinctively stepping back. Two of Atilla’s men grabbed us, their grips firm as they yanked us forward. We struggled, trying to break free, but their strength far outweighed ours. Panic began to creep in. We should’ve listened to Helion—turned around when we had the chance. Now, we were knee-deep in the mess, with no clear way out. And Atilla? He wasn’t known for his hospitality, especially toward cops. The group’s hatred for anything remotely tied to the government ran deep, ever since the authorities abandoned them after the disaster.

Leo raised his hands slightly, trying to diffuse the tension. “Okay, okay. We can talk. We’re not here to cause any trouble with Atilla. We’re not here for him.”

The taller thug tightened his grip, yanking Leo closer. “Atilla will decide if you’re trouble or not. Now quit squirming and walk.”

Leo, still attempting to reason with them, blurted, “You don’t get it. We’re just here to—”

Before he could finish, Atilla appeared at the window of the second floor, glaring down at us with cold eyes. “What’s going on down there?”

“Cops, Atilla,” the shorter thug called out. “These two are cops.”

Atilla paused, surveying us like a predator sizing up its prey. “Mmh… bring them to my tent. And round up the others. I’ll handle this now.”

“Right away.” The taller thug yanked us forward. “You heard him. Move.”

Leo muttered under his breath, “What a shitty day… what a goddamn shitty day.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” I mumbled, my voice flat as we were dragged along. My shoulders ached from the rough handling, but it was the looming dread of what was to come that weighed on me. “The shittiest day yet.”

—

The taller thug patted us down, finding nothing, then shoved us behind a couple of barrels stacked on top of each other. We were in the heart of the tent city, handcuffed to a tree—ironically, with our own cuffs. Around us, clothes hung from the branches, drying in the faint breeze, while kids played make-believe games with makeshift swords and shields. Bazaar vendors hawked their goods, indifferent to our situation, while the wet mud squelched beneath our feet. My socks were soaked through, the cold dampness seeping in, making every step uncomfortable.

People passing by threw side-glances, whispering to each other. I doubted they recognized us as cops—just saw us as two unfortunate fools caught in Atilla’s web.

“Well…” Leo muttered, breaking the silence. “Could be worse, right?”

I shot him a glare. “Worse?”

“At least he didn’t have us shot on sight,” he continued, hopeful. “Maybe we’ve got a slim chance of getting out of this.”

Before I could respond, the guard behind the barrels barked, “Oi! Keep it down, unless you want a gag in that mouth.”

I shut up, taking in the scene around us. Little Istanbul was a pitiful, isolated place, surrounded by water. Even if we wanted to make a run for it, there was nowhere to go. The district was tiny; I could probably walk from one end to the other in about twenty minutes. And with the only significant building being that neon-lit casino, hiding was out of the question.

Leo leaned in close and whispered, “Let me do the talking, okay? Keep your mouth shut.”

I gave him a quick nod. “Got it.”

“Jacob, watch these idiots,” the guard called to another man behind the barrels before wandering off. “I’m gonna take a piss.”

Leo tugged on the chain of his handcuffs, inching toward the thick branch we were linked to, peeking around the corner. He quickly slid back into place, his eyes narrowing.

“I saw him,” Leo whispered, leaning closer. “Jacob. That bastard’s the reason we’re stuck in this mess.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, tension building as I glanced toward the barrels.

Minutes crawled by until another guard finally came over, uncuffed us, and led us toward the largest tent in the camp. We shuffled forward, feet heavy in the mud. The taller thug patted us down again before opening the tent flaps.

Inside, Atilla sat casually on a chair, a half-burnt turkey laid out on the small table before him. A red flag hung behind him, emblazoned with a white lion spewing fire, the letters "TBO" looming above it. The tent was practically empty except for the table, chair, and flag. At least the ground here was cobblestone, not the thick mud that coated the rest of the area.

Atilla didn’t even look up at first, tearing into the turkey with his bare hands. “Where are the others?” he asked, his voice rough.

The flap opened again, and two more men were shoved in. “Here, Atilla,” the guard said, nodding toward the newcomers.

Atilla waved dismissively, not bothering to glance their way. “Leave me with them.”

The guards obeyed, filing out without a word, leaving us alone with him. I couldn’t help the uneasy knot twisting in my gut. My outward expression remained blank—eyes half-lidded and lifeless—but inside, I was rattled. Atilla was no ordinary thug. One wrong move, one wrong word, and we’d be lucky if we made it out in one piece.

Atilla’s eyes flickered with a strange amusement as he chewed on his meal. "Cops, huh?" he mumbled through a mouthful of chicken. "It’s been a while since one of your kind graced our humble district. Welcome."

Leo nodded cautiously. "Yeah, thanks. Just to be clear, we’re not here to cause trouble."

Atilla raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "Then why are you here? Cops only bring two things—guns and trouble."

Leo hesitated but kept his voice steady. "We’re investigating a wraith murder. Preternatural Affairs. A woman, Alisha Bhark, was killed, and we think Jacob—one of your men—might have some answers."

Atilla’s gaze sharpened. "Jacob’s a suspect?"

"We’re not sure yet."

Atilla grunted, wiping his mouth. "I’ll deal with you two later."

Leo shot me a smirk, his eyes glinting as he winked. I didn’t bother responding, staring blankly at the floor, eyelids heavy. "Deal with you later" could mean anything, and none of it sounded good. I hoped he’d just let us talk to Jacob, maybe let us leave in one piece—but the possibility of ending up in the sea crossed my mind more than once.

Atilla gestured toward one of the other men in the tent. "You, long hair. Step forward."

The man stammered, visibly shaking. "I-I didn’t… I don’t…"

“What did you do?”

“I… I’ll… I apologize.”

Atilla’s patience wore thin. "Terry!" he called, his voice booming.

A man with a glock on his hip entered, standing tall. "Yes, Atilla?"

"What did this guy do?"

Terry glanced at the trembling man. "Raph. His wife just gave birth to their second daughter. She’s pregnant again, and they found out it’s another girl."

Atilla’s eyes narrowed. "Three daughters in a row?" He leaned forward, almost whispering. "You know what needs to be done, don’t you, Raph?"

Raph nodded, his face as pale as a ghost. "Y-yes, Atilla."

"Good. Now get out of my sight."

Raph practically bolted out of the tent, his footsteps barely audible as he fled. The remaining man, who had been staring at the ground since we arrived, seemed to shrink even further.

"And him?" Atilla asked, his voice colder.

Terry’s expression darkened. "We caught him raping one of the prisoners from the Forgotten ambush."

Atilla waved a dismissive hand. "They’re prisoners, Terry. What do you expect us to do, play cards with them? There’s nothing wrong with that."

Terry cleared his throat. "He… raped a man, Atilla. Not a woman."

The change in Atilla was instant. His face froze, then he slowly stood, hands clasped behind his back as he turned away from us. The air in the tent thickened, tension mounting with each second of silence.

"Why?" Atilla asked, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Why not a woman?"

The man stuttered, his knees almost buckling. "I-I’m sorry, Atilla."

Terry stepped forward, his voice low and sharp. "He didn’t ask for an apology. He asked why."

"B-because… he looked woman enough?" the man croaked, barely able to get the words out.

That was it.

Atilla whirled around, grabbing the half-eaten turkey from his plate. He crossed the room in two strides, his hand latching onto the man’s throat. Without hesitation, Atilla smashed the turkey into the man’s face, knocking him to the ground. Before anyone could react, Atilla was on top of him, beating him senseless with the remains of the bird. Bits of turkey flew in every direction as Atilla rained down blows, grunting with every hit.

Leo and I instinctively stepped back, watching in stunned silence as the man’s face became a bloody, unrecognizable mess.

After what felt like an eternity, Atilla finally stopped, panting heavily as he stood up. The man lay motionless, blood streaming from a deep dent in his skull.

Atilla wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, muttering under his breath, "Bastard…"

He glanced in our direction, and Leo and I took another step back, our hearts racing.

"Ah, the cops," Atilla said, his voice calmer but still laced with tension. "You two can go. Most wouldn’t dare to come here. Talk to Jacob." He turned to Terry, still catching his breath. "And Terry, if they come back again in the future… bring them to me after I eat. I don’t want to waste another turkey."

Terry nodded. "Yes, Atilla."

“And send someone to clean the tent. Bits and pieces everywhere.”

“Yes, Atilla.” He motioned toward the exit. "Come on, cops. I’ll take you to Jacob."

As we stepped outside, Leo exhaled deeply, muttering under his breath, "God’s massive fucking balls, C. What the hell was that?"

I kept my gaze ahead, my voice flat. "I have no idea.”