There in the last street of the spiffian section of the backlands, a large, tall building loomed above me. It was not a block building, like most of the backlands' buildings. Instead, it was more like the Cyclo Gang's, a metal building.
But unlike the floating fortress of the Cyclo Gang, this building was different. It stood on the ground, planted firmly, its black metal plates glistening under the sparse sunlight.
In short, it was a tower. Flickering cyan lights faintly adorned it, buzzing and casting a hollow, decorative glow on the building.
The shadow of the tower was cast on my head and on the tarred ground of the street.
The spiffian section of the backlands was weird in all senses of the word.
The Orned Gang — a major gang — wasn't even feared by the residents of this section.
And the reason for that was the Orned Gang themselves. In fact, they were the weird ones.
They never tried to invoke fear in the hearts of the spiffian residents.
And because of that, spiffs walked freely in bulk, passing the entrance of this street, toward their various destinations with no hint of that subtle, shaky hesitation that always struck beings as a result of poorly hidden fright.
The afternoon sun barely pierced the thick dark veils — the clouds, and rained on the passersby, causing reflections of their numerous shadows to trail on the ground behind them as they walked in swarms.
Damn spiffs.
I turned my neck away from the street entrance, my gaze flickered, finally resting on Mangé, who stood beside me, just in front of his violet colored armored-steel hover that he had driven us here with.
Behind his steel hover, there were lesser steel hovers. Those vehicles numbered up to twenty. All filled with his supposed 'capable' executives. Those grey uniformed men that I had met in his bar.
My lips slowly widened as I took my gaze away from Mangé and the executives, my neck turning as my gaze found and rested on the massive metal tower. The base of the Orned Gang.
Mangé wasn't kidding when he said the building was large.
"Are you ready?" My voice came out low as I spoke, directing the preparatory question at Mangé.
"Is that even a question?" His voice was in the same tempo as mine, accompanied by a chuckle that sounded rather forced. Then, he took his chilerate off his lips, hanging it on his blond hair.
A low crack–! Sound bellowed as he cocked his plasma pistol, clenching it in his right palm.
Then slowly, he raised his left hand. And the moment he did, all the grey uniformed executives stepped out of their lesser steel hovers.
Mangé turned his neck, hesitant green gaze resting on mine.
"You remember what I told you, yeah?" He asked. Just to make sure. Or maybe it was to calm himself.
I nodded.
It was high time I got this little raid over with.
My blood was already hot, speeding through my veins, as my loudly beating heart circulated them.
The boiling ecstasy that came with the excitement caused my brain to freeze for a calm moment.
And in that moment, amid the brewing excitement, my frozen brain melted, my mind clearly replaying the words Mangé had relayed to me earlier.
…
…
…
In Mangé's bar, we had finally begun to discuss the 'plan' or 'strategy' for the raid.
"The plan, you ask?" Mangé uttered, leaning backward on his chair, "It's simple, really." He waved his hand, emphasizing the simplicity of his words.
"If it's simple, then what exactly is it?" As I asked, I rolled my eyes. The calm facade he put on was laughable.
"Have you been to the Orned Gang's main building?" He asked.
"No, I haven't. I've never even wandered into the spiffian section. I don't want to vomit or ruin my mood for an entire month. But I did hear that it was burned down by The Red Nightmare two years ago, or was it not?"
Mangé's facial expression twisted, lips curling into an odd, but equally fake sneer. Then, he muttered: "Racist."
I softly closed my eyes, shaking my head as I chuckled tenderly, rolling my right wrist for him to get on with what he was saying.
"Yes, their building was burned down, destroyed, damaged, battered, and all other words that imply devastating destruction. That's how bad it was. Whoever that Red Nightmare guy is, he really dealt with them." He uttered, nodding his head as he did so. As if to confirm the validity of his own words. "But then comes the interesting part: when they rebuilt their building, they… made it better."
"How so?"
"They built a fortress. A huge tower. Whichever company their backer is… they must be on the same or above the level of our own backers." His hand was on his beardless chin at that moment, his expression that of contemplation, like he ran a thousand simulations in his mind. "But our mole… Hmm.."
"Mole?" I asked.
"Oh!" He finally looked up to me, an apprehensive look plastered on his face. "We have a mole in the Orned Gang. It's a spiff. They've been there since the gang began its rebuild. That mole's been the one supplying us with information."
A mole? That does sound like something a gang would do.
But then, I wonder, does the Orned Gang have a mole here, too?
"I see." I muttered, "That's probably why you decided to raid the gang today, right?"
He nodded. "Yes. Most of the top executives of the Orned Gang are absent today. I've been informed that they've gone out on an operation."
"If the mole can supply this information, then why can't they just stealthily grab the key you require? I mean, the top executives will be gone, right?" My intonation had curiosity dripping all over it.
Mangé's lips widened as he nodded, his shoulders quivering slightly, like he was holding in laughter.
"It doesn't work like that, Stel. Plus, I never told you that the key was a literal one, did I?"
"... Is it a person?"
"Something like that."
"Something like that? What the hell…" I let out a soft sigh as I sank into my chair.
"So, what the hell is the actual plan?"
"That's why I said the plan is simple. We go there as the leader and his executives are absent. We destroy everything; that's necessary. We kill every single spiff, grab the key, and then we move out."
"Wait, wait, wait," I called out, caressing my temple with my left hand while waving at him with my right. "So, how do we get info on the backers? No, in the first place, does the mole have info on them?"
"No, the mole doesn't. We can torture one of… Hm, I doubt anyone who isn't at the level of an executive will have access to information about their backers. But we can still try. We still have to figure out how they even knew about my key in the first place, and why they 'kidnapped' it."
"So, the summary is that we're walking into the Orned Gang's base, hoping that according to your 'mole,' the executives and their leader aren't there, and then we kill and destroy everything, grab your 'key' and leave?"
He nodded. "Affirmative."
Really?!
"That's a bullshit plan," I replied.
Mangé shrugged, "We're gangsters, buddy."
Sure. Gangsters are allowed to be dunces. How convenient.
I simply sighed in reply.
"What's the average rank of the Orned gangsters?" I asked.
"Something similar to ours. Normal members are around rank 10 – 8, then the executives are all sparrow level. Rank 8 and above. Although none of them are up to rank 5."
I caressed my beard. "Doable." I uttered, "We're bringing all the Cyclo Gang's members?"
"No. Only our executives. But the highest of our executives is rank 7. A low sparrow. And we have Germaine, who's rank 8 too. And I myself am rank 8, so…" He shrugged.
My lips widened. "My little boy's a sparrow now."
"Well, alright," I declared, and the urgency of my tone punctured the light atmosphere. "Let's go."
Mangé nodded.
Then, we spent the next few minutes heading out of the fortress with the executives. Mangé was right; there was a separate passage for the gang members.
The damned bastards had an installed retractable metal stairwell that only they knew how to operate. Not that I tried to operate it, I just followed behind Mangé.
It means that the anti-gravity tech that Fero operated earlier was just to show off to guests and visitors.
Damned Cyclo. Although I should be insulting their backers instead. Those people spent lots of cash on these guys. If I had that money, I'd have eaten more than boiled potatoes and bland soup every day. But I digress.
In the dark areas of Wall Street, countless steel hovers were parked. Hidden in the shadows.
Those vehicles were truly fancy, another testament to their backers' waste of good cash.
The vehicles were aesthetically pleasing, yes. With their reinforced violet-painted, metal-plated armors, anti-gravity levitation techs that buzzed faintly as the engines roared, and the faint resemblance they had to those ancient fighter jets. It was clear that the designers had taste, but somehow I didn't like it.
It was a waste of money.
A normal car would've been better. But oh well, at least it was fast.
We zoomed out of the male section and arrived at the spiffian section in no time. Less than fifteen minutes to be exact. And the normal time it took for an average male human to walk from Wall Street to the Spiffian section was two hours.
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…
"Let's go in." Mangé uttered.
Once more, I felt the rush within me as I stared at the tall and imposing tower.
I then let out a soft sigh. A mediocre effort to calm the excitement.
I turned toward Mangé.
"Why's Germaine not with us again?" I asked him, narrowing my eyes.
"The guy's cybi leg was crushed, Stel. He's standing guard in our base just in case anything goes wrong. Plus, if it were you, you wouldn't want to be in the same place with the same guy who broke your leg, would you?"
Makes sense, but still feels off nonetheless.
"Fair enough," I replied.
"Now, that's enough talking," Mangé stated, finally walking toward the large black door that was most probably the entrance to the building. "Let's raid some spiffs."
I followed, walking alongside him. And behind us, the executives marched.
It was time to begin the raid.