May 6, 2021. 19:21. Vancouver.
The Dead Kings headquarters never really did subtle. Quite the opposite, actually, and the probability that it would continue to stay that way was very high, to say the least.
Blake lounged across the enormous leather couch near the centre of his office, one massive chrome arm stretched across the backrest while a glass rested in his other hand.
Excess. That was probably the best word for it.
Personally, Blake preferred using the term successful.
Several women—his girls—occupied the surrounding couches, all dressed in elegant evening attire.
One sat beside him reading messages from a tablet. Another was browsing clothing designs. A third leaned comfortably against the arm of the couch while explaining some ridiculous celebrity drama she had found online.
Blake listened to all of them with equal attention.
That part mattered a lot.
People typically noticed when favourites existed. They especially noticed when attention wasn't distributed fairly.
Fortunately for him, Blake was someone who tried to treat others fairly in that regard.
A smile crossed his face as one of the women rolled her eyes at another's story.
"No way."
"I sweaaaarrrr!"
"No."
"Yessss."
Blake chuckled.
"I'm inclined to believe her," he rumbled through his voice modulator.
The woman immediately pointed.
"See? Blake agrees with me."
"Blake also enjoys chaos."
"Exactlyyyy."
"That's not helping your argument."
The room broke into laughter.
It was a much-needed break. Things have been tense lately.
Between the gang politics, the street situation, and the growing uncertainty surrounding corporate expansion alongside Vancouver and the VPD, it was hard to say what direction the city would go in.
In fact, Blake wasn't even fully sure where the Dead Kings would end up despite having a few ideas floating around.
For better or worse, the laughter—and his thoughts—lasted all of ten seconds before the office doors opened.
Several Dead Kings entered.
Just from their expressions alone, Blake knew something was wrong.
Not necessarily panic. Not an emergency either.
But the atmosphere immediately became serious.
The mood shifted almost instantly, and the women noticed it too. Their laughter died out just as quickly.
One of the men stepped forward.
"Boss."
Blake's smile faded slightly.
"What happened?"
"The Melders. They're testing our territory boundaries again."
"Again?" Blake sat up slightly. "That's the third time this week."
"Yes."
"What about the Banshees?"
"They're still working with them." The man nodded. "And the SynthCoke distribution has increased. Some of it is making its way into our establishments and reaching our clients."
Unfortunately, considering the state of the city, that wasn't surprising.
Not at all.
If anything, it was just annoying.
What did catch Blake off guard was the next piece of news.
"Their numbers are growing too."
Blake's expression hardened.
For several seconds, he simply stared out one of his office windows overlooking Vancouver.
This wasn't supposed to be happening. At least not at the rate it was happening now.
Not while Gestalt was rebuilding the city with the aid of corporate attention.
Where were they even getting their numbers from?
Vancouver certainly had no shortage of desperate people, but from a common-sense perspective, the Melders weren't exactly an attractive first choice for recruitment.
Even if the Dead Kings weren't everyone's top pick, gangs like the GTown Boys or the Velvet Fangs were far more appealing. Both had reputations for being significantly more humanitarian despite still operating outside the law.
Perhaps this was a sign for Blake to seriously consider forming alliances before it was too late.
A gang war was becoming increasingly likely.
If the Melders and Banshees were given enough time, they could eventually seize large portions of Vancouver for themselves. If that happened, the streets wouldn't be safe for anyone until the VPD finally decided to go all-in with its resources, and by that point countless civilians would inevitably get caught in the crossfire.
Actually, the situation wasn't all that different from the aftermath of the economic collapse. Entire regions had become lawless overnight, and it had taken years of rebuilding to reach even this point.
"Hm." A low sound escaped Blake.
One of the women gently rested a hand against his arm.
Another squeezed his shoulder. "It'll be okay."
Blake offered a small smile, a genuine one. "Thank you."
Then he stood, his massive chrome limbs unfolding from the couch.
Even after all these years, the size difference remained ridiculous. Despite that, the women treated it casually now, simply shifting aside as he rose to his full height.
Their comfort was appreciated.
But comfort alone wasn't useful to Blake. Solutions were.
"What about the others?" He stretched his neck, small servos clicking into place. "Are there any updates on that end?"
The Dead King immediately understood what Blake was asking.
"The VPD received additional funding."
Blake frowned.
Having the VPD finally receive meaningful resources was a mixed bag. For the average citizen, it was infinitely preferable to gangs growing stronger. For Blake, however, it meant the Dead Kings' time as "just a gang" was rapidly running out.
"From who?" he asked, furrowing his brows.
"Militech," the man replied curtly. "Just them."
That earned a low whistle from Blake.
Interesting. Very interesting. Not Arasaka this time?
He walked toward the windows.
Far below, Vancouver stretched across the horizon.
All around the Dead Kings' headquarters, the city continued rebuilding. Recovering from the crash. Slowly becoming something worth fighting for again.
"You know what?" Blake smirked. "Good."
The man blinked. "Boss?"
"This will be good." Blake folded his arms. "If Gestalt succeeds, Vancouver—hell, maybe even all of Canada—wins."
That surprised several people in the room.
Most expected gang leaders to hate government involvement.
But Blake wasn't stupid.
A functioning city made money. And the absolute poetic irony, contrary to the gang's name, was that a dead city didn't.
"The harder Gestalt pushes," Blake continued, "the more pressure everybody feels."
His eyes narrowed.
"Which means we need legitimacy."
That word hung in the air.
Legitimacy.
Out of all the words Blake associated with the Dead Kings these days, it wasn't survival or expansion.
It was legitimacy.
The Dead Kings had been moving toward that goal for months.
Any businesses or investments they could get their hands on. AXIS and, more recently, Remi were proof of that.
Partnerships mattered too. Blake held both the Velvet Fangs and the GTown Boys in high regard because of their mutual respect, business arrangements, and willingness to honour territorial agreements.
But influence mattered most of all.
If old-world celebrities could come from slums and become international stars, then there was no reason the Dead Kings couldn't do the same.
The alternative was to fall behind and die.
And that wasn't a future Blake intended to accept.
"We clean up our image." Blake turned back toward the room.
"Aren't we already doing that, boss?"
Blake shook his head. "It's not enough. We need to quicken our pace."
Every mistake he or the Dead Kings had ever made, and every problem they had gotten themselves into, needed to disappear.
Whether it was paid off, buried, or corrected didn't matter.
The result was the same. They needed a clean slate.
The Dead King member cleared his throat. "Oh, and uh, there's something else."
Blake turned. "Oh?"
"The Vix Lounge."
"What about it?"
"The streets nearby... the Melders are testing them."
"Of course they are." Blake sighed. "Can't say I'm surprised."
The Vix Lounge sat in an increasingly important position.
Thanks to Mister, it represented another step in the right direction.
Unfortunately, it was also quickly becoming prime territory. Exactly the sort of place rival gangs liked pressuring.
For only a brief moment, Blake found himself wishing somebody else was standing here.
Someone very specific. Lily. Miss Solo.
A faint smile crossed his face. Funny.
He had an entire room full of beautiful women behind him.
He possessed more money and status than he'd ever imagined having when he was younger. Sure, most of it came from "helping" his neighbourhood and the ghettos of Surrey survive and rise above the cesspit that had once been the combat zone, but it was still a nice position to be in.
Yet the person he wished was here was Lily.
Not because she was a pretty face. Sure, she was easy on the eyes, and her attitude was endlessly entertaining.
But attractive people were everywhere, and Blake knew enough to appreciate the privilege of having an abundance of them around him.
No, it was something else.
It was her skill set that was rare. Her confidence was even rarer. People who could remain calm under pressure were hard to find. And if memory served him correctly, she was fast. Ridiculously fast. Especially with a gun.
"I need her back."
One of the women laughed softly. "You miss her? You're making me jealous."
"Relax, dear." Blake smirked. "I miss the results she could bring to the table."
That earned a few chuckles.
"Remi too."
Several eyebrows rose. "Really?"
"Really." Blake walked back toward the couch. "I listened to some of his sample tracks, and they show promise."
That got immediate interest.
"Lots of promise," he emphasized.
Remi wasn't polished or refined. Yet his raw vocal range and his ability to improvise across multiple genres were genuinely special. The potential was absolutely there. And Blake could see it.
With the right branding, management, and opportunities, the Dead Kings could absolutely benefit from it. Better yet, the relationship would be mutually beneficial.
One of the women perked up. "Oh."
Blake glanced over, interest piqued. "What?"
"Actually, I heard something recently."
"Go on."
"There's this music and cultural festival. Some kind of tournament too."
"Where?"
"Eastern Canada. Somewhere near Toronto." The woman shrugged. "I don't know all the details." She thought for a moment. "But apparently some huge sponsors are involved."
"Who?"
"Corporations." She began counting. "Media companies. Entertainment groups. International labels."
Another woman joined in. "I think PetroChem was involved somehow."
A third added another. "Network 54 too."
Now Blake was interested. Extremely interested.
Network 54 didn't throw money around without reason.
Neither did major entertainment investors.
If they were involved, there was an opportunity.
A real, genuine, legitimate one.
"Interesting."
The woman smiled at his approval. "Thought you'd like that."
Blake reached over, his massive chrome hand carefully resting against her head.
Despite the size difference, the gesture remained surprisingly gentle.
"Thank you." He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
The woman beamed, satisfied with a mission accomplished.
After that, Blake settled back onto the couch.
The room gradually relaxed again as conversations resumed and the tension from earlier slowly faded into the background. His gaze drifted toward the windows overlooking Vancouver.
For a moment, old memories surfaced.
Before he was chromed out. Before the money. Before the Dead Kings had been formed to claw their way out of Surrey.
Back when dragging people out of slums was a regular occurrence, and gunfire was just another part of daily life. Back when he'd been shot at more times than he cared to count.
Then came the explosion.
The car bomb. The day he should have died. The day his life ended.
And somehow didn't.
His people refused to give up on him. They poured everything they had into quality cyberware and a full-body conversion just to keep him alive. They rebuilt him from almost the ground up.
And in doing so, they saved him.
Now he sat here years later with a body capable of punching through concrete and a future he never expected to have.
Funny how life worked.
A gang war might be coming. Politics were shifting. Vancouver itself was changing faster than anyone could comfortably keep up with.
But Blake still felt optimistic.
His gaze drifted toward the skyline and then toward two people currently thousands of kilometres away.
Lily and Remi.
A small smile crossed his face.
"Try not to get yourselves killed," he murmured to himself, quietly enough that even the women beside him couldn't hear it.