Crimson Ties

The muscular thug sat back in his chair, shuffling a battered deck of cards with a rough, practiced hand. A small, rusty hatchet lay on the table beside him, its blade nicked and stained, ready within reach. His biceps bulged with every movement, and his face was locked in a permanent scowl.

The skinny thug, pacing around nervously, fingered a thin, jagged-edged knife tucked into his belt as he couldn't keep his mouth shut. His voice was high-pitched and carried a whiny, scoundrel-like edge, every word a mix of nerves and eagerness to get into someone else's business. "Hey, you think that guy we heard about—he got caught, yeah?" He shifted his weight from foot to foot, glancing uneasily at the door, his fingers twitching around the hilt of his knife.

The muscular thug didn't even look up. "Probably," he muttered, eyes still focused on his cards. "Lot of guys after one runner? They wouldn't let him slip away."

The skinny thug nodded, a bit too eagerly. "Yeah, yeah, you're probably right. But what if he—what if he's still out there? Think they'll catch him, though? They gotta, right?"

"Shut it," the muscular thug growled, slamming his cards down onto the table. The table rattled, and his hand drifted momentarily to the hatchet. "You talk too damn much. Let me play in peace."

The skinny thug fell silent for a moment, his fingers tracing the knife at his belt for comfort, but he wasn't done yet. "Alright, alright… but what about the girls we grabbed? Most of 'em are gone now, yeah? Only that one left. What's up with that?"

The muscular thug's eyes flickered briefly toward him, but he kept his expression cold. "What about it? The others got transferred. That one's not our problem."

The skinny thug leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, his tone excited and twisted. "But that last one, man… she's still here. Think she's special or somethin'? I mean, why keep her?"

The muscular thug exhaled loudly, his fingers tightening around his cards. "I don't know. Don't care. Just stay outta trouble and keep quiet about it."

The skinny thug's eyes darted to the shadows, his fingers drumming on the hilt of his knife. "But come on, man. She's right here, all tied up and everything… you sure we shouldn't have some fun?"

The muscular thug slammed his fist down on the table, the cards scattering as the force rattled the whole setup. "What did I just say?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His knuckles turned white, and his face flushed with anger as he glared.

At the noise, the fat thug on the cot in the corner jerked awake, his hand loosely gripping a small dagger. His thick neck rolled as he blinked blearily, snorting, "What's all the noise…?"

The muscular thug cast him an irritated glance before turning back to the skinny one, his temper only half-cooled. "And you—keep your damn mind on the job, or I'll drag you to the boss myself."

The fat thug mumbled, scratching his belly with the tip of his dagger before falling back to sleep, mumbling something incoherent. His heavy snores soon filled the room again.

The skinny thug finally took a cautious step back, muttering a weak apology. "Alright, alright! Just askin'… no need to get all bent outta shape." He glanced around, muttering under his breath about the lack of excitement.

Then, a faint, muffled sound drifted through the warehouse air—a low, gut-wrenching cry, echoing like a ghostly whisper. The skinny thug's face paled, his grip tightening around the knife. "D-did you hear that?" he stammered, barely above a whisper. "Sounds like… someone's cryin'."

The muscular thug looked up, unimpressed. "You're jumpin' at shadows," he grunted. "Go check it out yourself. Probably just some rat or an echo."

The skinny thug swallowed hard, his mouth dry. There was no arguing with the muscular thug, and his mind was already swirling with the tale of Nathaniel, the shadowy figure who hunted in the fog, looking for victims.

He edged toward the dark corridor, each step filling him with a mounting dread as the crying grew louder, echoing in the cold, still air. "H-Hello?" he called, his voice trembling. "Anyone there…?"

Finally, he reached the end of the hallway, where a figure was huddled in the shadows. A girl, her shoulders trembling as she sobbed, her face hidden beneath her matted hair. He took a shaky step closer, fingers twitching as he reached out to touch her shoulder.

In an instant, she whipped around, and he stumbled back in horror. Her face was twisted, her eyes wide and bloodshot, smeared with dark streaks of blood trailing down her chin and neck as if she'd been feasting on something raw. Her mouth hung open in a silent scream, her eyes haunting and unnatural.

He gasped, his legs giving out as he stumbled back, his hands clawing at the ground, terror freezing his breath.

Before he could scream, a strong arm wrapped around his neck, yanking him backward. Vince's grip tightened, and in moments, the skinny thug slumped unconscious, his knife clattering to the floor.

Chloe wiped a hand across her face, smearing away the fake blood. She tried to steady her breathing as she looked at Vince, half-shocked, half-pleased with herself. "Did I… overdo it?" she asked, still trembling a bit.

Vince smirked, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "Not at all. You gave him a fright he won't forget anytime soon."

He looked down at the skinny thug's unconscious body, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glanced at Chloe. "Alright," he murmured, "what exactly did you use to pull that off?"

She smirked, holding up her hand. In her palm was a small vial, the glass stained with what looked like thick, dark blood. "Just a little makeup trick with some fake blood," she whispered, grinning. "And I may have used a bit of cold water to make my face look extra pale and… well, ghostly."

Vince took a step closer, his face just inches from Chloe's, inspecting the remnants of the fake blood smudged across her skin. She felt her cheeks grow warm, her heartbeat suddenly louder in her ears. For a second, she forgot where they were, the eerie warehouse fading into the background.

Vince gave her a faint, approving nod. "Nice work," he said, his voice low, a glint of admiration in his eyes.

Chloe cleared her throat, looking away quickly, hoping the dim light hid the flush in her cheeks. "Well… just doing my job," she murmured, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.