Rommel glanced at Rainer before turning his skeptical gaze to Orson.
"If you know something we should, then tell us."
Orson turned back to the warehouse and signaled for his lieutenants to open the door.
Soon, the groan of rusted metal echoed in the quiet street, and Orson let out a weary sigh.
"I'll just say you should prepare for the worst."
The large doors were pushed open, and the warehouse's bright, solar-powered lighting fell upon them.
They stepped inside, their eyes adjusting to the light to reveal a chaotic cluster of random items.
Different varieties of guns hung on the walls; magazines and attachments were piled on metal shelves. But these were just a fraction of the items there, and what could be considered useful to them.
The vast space was a graveyard of loot, with boxes spilled over onto the concrete floor, disgorging clothing, theater props, housing decor, and pieces of tactical armor.
Orson pulled a second, finer glove over his black one, perusing a crate of grenades with a connoisseur's eye.
"Pardon the mess. A large number of the items here were recently... acquired. Many things still need to be sorted out."
Rainer peeked into a large box filled with costumes and pulled out a stark white smiley-face mask.
"What... kind of gangsters did you get these trophies from?"
It was one of the lieutenants who answered instead.
"I know what you're thinking, but this warehouse used to be a storage unit for an abandoned local theater. We bought it and initially used it as a front for donations to the local orphanage."
Rommel grabbed an AR-15 assault rifle, checking its weight and sighting down the barrel as he muttered in a deep tone, "Now it's the BCBs' personal arsenal."
The lieutenant glanced at him and chuckled.
"BCB? Heck! That sounds like a news channel. Please don't call us that bro."
Rainer grabbed another mask from the box.
"Hey, Rommel! Catch!" He called out, tossing a white mask across the room.
Rommel caught it with little fuss.
Casting a curious gaze upon it, he found it was a frowning counterpart to Rainer's smiling one, and his eyes twitched in annoyance.
"What's your name anyway?" Rainer asked, glancing to the lieutenant.
He smiled, a row of nice white teeth—shocking, I know.
"Oh, I'm Cassius, and the broody one over there is Brutus."
He pointed a thumb back at the hard-faced man standing guard at the now-closed doors, who offered a single, solemn nod in their direction.
Rainer nodded back in acknowledgment, then looked up at Orson, who was sampling the contents of a new box. It was a white package of some powdered drug, and a mild look of disgust twisted his expression.
"I think it's nice getting to know you guys." Rainer revealed lightly.
Orson dropped the package with an imperceptible sigh.
"It will only be nice for me, when the Beach Boys are gone. But if Festus is killed, I'll be content. He's the commander in charge of the Beach Boys in this region."
"Festus, eh?" Rainer looked away, his eyes scanning a shelf of standard handguns.
"What do you think, Rommel?" he asked, approaching the shelf.
Rommel, who was busy stuffing two rifles and a pile of magazines into a heavy duffel bag, glanced up at Rainer before looking at Orson.
"If he's there, consider him dead."
Although Orson didn't truly believe his words, a thin, cold smile touched his lips regardless, and he silently lit a cigarette.
Rainer swapped his Glock for two polished .44 Magnums, hefting their significant weight with a contented smile.
"Such beauties," he muttered with awe, then spun them around his fingers with an experienced flair before sliding them into his black duffel bag.
His gaze soon shifted to a large boombox sitting on a nearby table.
From the look of it, the device was already turned on as its edges and rims pulsed with slowly shifted waves of neon color.
Curious, he approached and pushed the 'play' button.
Instantly, a cinematic Brazilian phonk beat blasted into the air, the bass thumping against the warehouse walls.
"The Time Has Come... To Meet The End..." a haunting female vocalist sang.
At that moment, Cassius approached with an intrigued smile.
"Ah, this."
He pushed the 'next' button, and another track began to play.
"It was given to me by some punk who owed me money... Out of fear, I think. This thing's way more expensive than his debt." He said, scratching the back of his head with an uncertain look.
Hearing this, Rainer silently unplugged the boombox and placed it into his duffel bag.
"Wha–what are you doing?!" Cassius exclaimed, flustered.
Rainer smirked at him.
"For inspiration." Then he zipped the bag shut.
"But—"
"Alright." Orson interrupted, dusting his hands together.
"If you've both gotten all you need, then get ready to leave."
Rommel looked at him.
"The dock's a bit far. How are we going to get there?"
"Witchery," Orson tersely informed, signaling to his lieutenants with a flick of his wrist.
"Place a band over their eyes."
Rainer hefted his bag.
"Witchery?" He raised a curious brow.
Brutus brought a piece of black cloth toward Rommel. Rommel glanced at the fabric, then at Orson, his expression uncertain.
"Is this really necessary?"
Orson pulled out a golden pocket watch and glanced at it.
"It's my family's secret. Can't have you seeing what it looks like."
Cassius wrapped a cloth around Rainer's eyes and led him forward.
Rainer soon felt Cassius's hand come to rest on his waist as he guided him, and he glanced back blindly.
"Hey, you're being too bold with me, Cassy. At least buy me a drink first, will you?" he joked, smiling beneath the blindfold.
"Haha!" Cassius chuckled, moving his hands up to Rainer's shoulders.
"Sorry about that, man."
After a short, disorienting walk, they stopped.
Rainer suddenly heard Orson's voice close beside him, low and serious.
"A few more steps forward and you'll find yourself at a secured spot within the docks..."
He let out a weary sigh.
"I only approved this because your representative, one Messmer, has signed a profitable deal with us. So make this count."
Rainer smirked into the darkness.
"Ah, Messmer. She sure does work fast. Don't worry, friend. We'll be in and out with Festus's head before you know it."
Orson cleared his throat. "Nothing so barbaric."
Suddenly, Rommel's voice rumbled from nearby.
"How do we get out when it's over?"
Orson went silent, and a somber feeling settled for a moment before he spoke, his voice slightly cracked.
"I'll leave that to your own ingenuity."
He cleared his throat again, the sound sharp in the tense quiet.
"Send these gentlemen on their way, boys."
Rainer suddenly felt a firm hand plant itself on his back, and then he was shoved forward.
Immediately, he felt a profound queasiness and a sensation of weightlessness as he stumbled into the unknown.
For a brief, terrifying moment, his hair stood on end and a deeply familiar, cosmic chill gripped his soul.
Just then, from the darkness his shut eyes created, two luminous blue eyes opened. They sparkled, anciently with a cosmic beauty as awe-inspiring as the nebulae of deep space.
Then a feminine voice, regal and full of majesty, called out with an undertone of profound weariness:
"Welcome, Champion. I have waited—too long."