The back halls of the underground club stank of sweat, old beer, and something darker—like the stench of blood that had soaked too deep into the concrete to ever leave. Wang made his way past stumbling drunks, passed-out fighters, and a couple of girls laughing too hard at nothing, high out of their minds.
He reached the heavy steel door and knocked twice.
It opened before he could knock a third time.
Tito, the slab of meat with sunglasses, gave a short grunt and stepped aside. "He's expecting you."
Inside, the red haze hadn't changed.
Big Chungus was lounging like a king in rot, reclining on his sweat-stained leather throne. His pinstripe suit was open now, belly spilling out, a gold chain hanging across his thick chest hair. Cigar in one hand. Glass of rum in the other. One of the girls from before—maybe new, maybe not—was curled up on the floor next to him like a cat, barely conscious.
Wang didn't waste time.
He stepped in, face blank, posture firm.
"I'll do it."
Chungus raised a brow. "Well, well. The prodigal brawler returns." He chuckled. "Had a change of heart, did we? Or did the cold shower finally knock some sense into ya?"
Wang didn't blink. "I'll take out Red Beard."
That made Chungus sit forward a little, the chair creaking under his weight.
"Fuckin' music to my ears," he said with a grin, puffing smoke. "Knew you were smarter than that puppy-dog stare you wear. So when do we—"
"But."
Chungus paused. The grin froze.
Wang's voice was flat. "I want two chips."
The room went still.
Chungus stared at him.
Wang stared back.
"No jokes. No games," Wang continued. "I want two Melbourne ID chips. One for me, and one for someone else. Or the deal's off."
Tito shifted near the door, visibly tensing. One of the other girls on the couch blinked slowly, then looked away.
Big Chungus didn't say anything at first.
Just silence.
Then his lip twitched.
And he started to laugh.
At first, it was a short chuckle. Then it grew. Louder. Gut-busting. Full belly roars that made his chair creak and the table rattle.
"Holy fuck, kid!" Chungus wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye with a gold-ringed finger. "You got balls! I like that! You show up in my fuckin' house, say yes to murder—and then have the nerve to negotiate?"
He leaned forward again, still chuckling, eyes twinkling now with a predator's glee.
"Let me guess—one for you, one for the pretty cowgirl with the loose shorts?"
Wang didn't respond.
Chungus laughed again, lower this time. "Don't worry. I ain't judging. I'd tap that too if I didn't think she'd blow my fuckin' balls off."
He took another drag of his cigar. The smoke drifted upward like a halo over a devil's horns.
Then, without another word, he stood.
His massive hand extended.
"You got yourself a fuckin' deal, Jackie Chang."
Wang took his hand.
It was like shaking a bag of warm sausages dipped in grease.
They locked eyes.
And in that moment, both of them knew exactly what this meant.
This wasn't a favor.
It was a blood contract.
A body for a future.
And Wang had just sold his soul for two clean exits.
It better be fucking worth it.
***
The door creaked open and slammed shut behind him with a dull thud. Wang stepped into the dark, cramped apartment, still buzzing with adrenaline. The air was thick with stale beer, cigarette smoke, and the faint trace of mildew clinging to the cracked drywall. Same as always.
Cass was sprawled across the couch in her underwear, as usual—black sports bra, boyshorts riding high on her hips, one leg propped on the armrest like she owned the place. Her blonde hair was a tangled mess, and the flickering light from the busted ceiling fan cast soft shadows across her bare skin. A half-empty beer can rested on her stomach, balanced perfectly between her ribs and navel.
She didn't look up. Just flicked the ash from her cigarette into a crusty tray on the floor and muttered, "You win another one tonight, champ?"
Wang stepped forward slowly, eyes fixed on her.
"No," he said. "Not tonight."
Cass raised an eyebrow but didn't move.
He stood in front of her, voice quiet but firm.
"You ever think about getting the fuck out of here?"
She snorted. "What, and leave this five-star luxury behind?"
"I'm serious."
That got her attention. She sat up slightly, beer tipping off her stomach and spilling foam onto the couch. She didn't give a shit.
"What's eating you?"
Wang met her eyes.
"You wanna be a citizen of Melbourne?"
Cass blinked. The question hit her like a slap. She scoffed, then laughed dryly.
"Who the fuck doesn't?" she said, exhaling smoke. "A bed with sheets. Hot showers. Clean streets. Real food. You kidding me?"
Wang nodded once.
"Then I'm gonna need your help."
Cass narrowed her eyes, cigarette paused mid-air.
"You're not talking about placing another bet."
"No," Wang said. "I'm talking about doing the job. Red Beard."
Cass froze.
The smoke curled upward in slow spirals.
"…You're fuckin' serious."
"I went to Big Chungus," Wang said, sitting down across from her, voice even. "Told him I'll do it. One hit. He gives me a chip."
"Jesus, Wang."
"I got him to agree to two."
Silence.
Cass just stared at him. Like he'd grown another head.
"You—you what?"
"I told him I'm not doing it unless I get two chips," Wang said, tone flat. "One for me. One for you."
Cass didn't speak.
She didn't move.
Then, slowly, she got up off the couch. Walked barefoot across the cold floor to the mini-fridge, opened it, and pulled out a tall can of beer. The hiss of the tab broke the silence.
She didn't sit down right away. Just leaned against the fridge and stared at him for a long moment.
Then she chugged the entire thing.
In one go.
Wang waited, his chest tight.
Cass crushed the empty can in her hand with a clink, tossed it into the corner, then grabbed her pack of cigarettes from the table.
"Fuck me," she muttered, lighting up.
She exhaled long and slow, eyes still on him. No humor now. No sarcasm. Just that exhausted, battle-worn look she wore when shit got real.
"You do realize," she said after a moment, "what the fuck we're walking into, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"That Red Beard prick? He's not just some street thug. He runs Glenelg like it's his own little kingdom. Slaves. Guards. Fuckin' land mines, probably."
"I know."
"Jesus, Wang."
She sat back down, ash falling from her cig as she crossed her legs on the couch.
"This is suicide."
Wang leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So's staying here."
Cass didn't answer.
He continued. "We keep doing what we're doing, maybe we survive another year. Maybe two. Or maybe we take one shot. A real shot."
Cass dragged deeply on her cigarette. The cherry flared red in the dim light. She exhaled through her nose, face unreadable.
"…And you're sure you can trust that fat bastard?"
Wang gave a bitter smile. "No. But I can't afford not to."
She let that hang in the air.
Then she shook her head, laughing quietly.
"Fucking hell," she muttered. "I should've left your ass in the desert."
Wang smiled faintly. "But you didn't."
Cass gave him a look—half frustration, half reluctant admiration. "You always been this much of a pain in the ass?"
"Since birth."
She took one last drag, then snuffed the cigarette out in the beer can beside the couch.
Another pause.
Then she stood up, walked past him, and ruffled his hair as she passed.
"Alright, Jackie Chang. Fuck it. Let's burn the whole place down."
Wang looked up at her, surprised.
"You in?"
She turned her head slightly, giving him that crooked, shit-eating grin.
"You think I'm gonna let you go play assassin without me?" she said. "Who the fuck else is gonna drag your bleeding corpse out if it goes sideways?"
He exhaled, tension slipping from his shoulders.
"Thanks."
Cass turned back toward the fridge, cracking open another beer.
"Don't thank me yet. We're not in Melbourne till I've had my first hot bath and a goddamn bottle of real wine."
She raised her can in a mock toast.
"To bad decisions."
Wang raised an invisible glass.
"To second chances."
They drank in silence.
Outside, the city howled.
Q: Are you good at bargaining?