Footsteps echoed in a dark alley in the United States. Two men walked down the long, gloomy corridor. One of them accidentally stepped in a puddle that gave off a disgusting smell of urine.
"Shit... this is disgusting..." he complained, frowning. Remind me, Richarzon... why the hell do we have to come here?
"It's not that bad..." replied his companion, indifferently. "Just avoid any puddles and keep walking. We have to collect from this clown... he owes a lot of money to Mr. Two Hundred and also to the corporation... to both of them equally."
"Is he that deep in debt?" asked Gorgo, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes..." said Richarzon. "This guy was supposed to sell some drugs to a criminal group and deliver the money to the corporation. He also asked Mr. Two Hundred himself for another sum... and now he's disappeared with both debts. Rumor has it that he's involved in other shady business..."
"More shady than ours?" Gorgo replied, with a hint of curiosity.
"He's trafficking weapons for the Mor Foundation..." Richarzon said, in a serious tone.
"The Mor Foundation? The experimental weapons manufacturer? I'm out of here!" Gorgo shouted, his eyes wide.
"Don't be an idiot... I need you!" Richarzon replied, keeping his cool. "Only you and I can take on these guys. Besides, I didn't say he was backed by the Mor Foundation... he's just doing business with them. We'll charge him and leave."
"What if he refuses to pay?" Gorgo asked, a hint of concern in his voice.
Richarzon responded silently, running his finger across his throat in an eloquent gesture.
"Mr. Two Hundred told me to recover what was lost... one way or another, if the money isn't here today," added Richarzon, stopping in front of a large metal gate.
Richarzon knocked hard on the gate twice and then a third time more softly.
"Who is it?" asked a nervous voice from the other side of the door.
"Richarzon... we need to talk to you, Sander," replied the young man with a cold smile.
"Get out of here! I don't talk to Do'cientos' dogs!" shouted the voice, full of fear and defiance.
"Wrong answer, Sander..." said Richarzon in a playful tone, gesturing toward the gate to Gorgo. "All yours, champ."
"God... the things I do for this job," Gorgo growled, stepping forward. With a single movement, he delivered a powerful kick to the gate, which flew out of its frame and crashed into the back wall with a deafening roar.
"Holy shit..." stammered Sander, stumbling to the side of the torn-off door. He turned and ran away in a panic.
Gorgo entered through the broken door and found himself in a dark, foul-smelling hallway.
"This hallway is worse than the alley..." he complained resignedly.
"What did you expect? A bed of roses?" Richarzon replied sarcastically, already giving chase.
"Damn it... now we have to run?" Gorgo grumbled as he threw himself after them.
The debtor suddenly turned right and disappeared down a narrow, steep staircase.
"Stairs?" Gorgo snorted in disbelief.
"Come on, big guy, hurry up!" Richarzon shouted, climbing the steps two at a time with surprising agility.
Gorgo snorted and began to climb, each step echoing like a war drum in that place.
Sander finished climbing the stairs and ran down a hallway where there was a somewhat broken window.
"It's over! There's no way out!" Gorgo shouted victoriously, but Sander took off his shoe and threw it at the window, shattering it. He then stepped on the frame and jumped to the fire escape of the building next door.
"You had to talk..." Richar reproached him as he put his foot on the window frame and jumped to the wall.
As soon as his feet touched the wall, he pushed himself up, moving three stories ahead on the fire escape.
"Damn it..." Gorgo complained, seeing the long way he had to climb. "That serum really did him good..."
He looked down and measured the short distance between the window and the fire escape. Without wasting any time, he placed one foot on the frame and jumped with such force that he broke part of the wall. His body hit the opposite wall, but he quickly pulled himself away and began climbing the metal structure.
Richarzon chased after Sander, but lost sight of him when he reached the terrace.
"You're not getting away, Sander!" Richarzon shouted as he climbed. "Pay up or suffer the consequences! The longer you take, the harder I'll hit you!"
"Fuck you!" Sander's voice replied from the roof.
"Now you're really in trouble!" Richarzon roared, managing to climb onto the terrace. But he was met with a violent blow: Sander was waiting for him, wielding a metal rod and glaring with rage.
Sander tried to hit him again, but the young man leaned back, dodging the blow, and then jumped to avoid the return of the rod. As he fell, Richarzon took the opportunity to punch him directly in the eye, followed by a left hook that shook his opponent.
"You're going to pay for this somehow, Sander," Richarzon declared breathlessly as he landed a third blow to the debtor's stomach.
"You and Do'cientos can hold hands and go to hell!" Sander shouted, managing to land a blow with the rod to his stomach and then another to the middle of his forehead.
Richarzon crashed to the ground with a thud, his forehead bleeding. Although he was barely conscious, he managed to see the debtor drop the rod and replace it with a heavy metal pipe.
"Shit... no... get away from me with that..." Richarzon muttered, crawling across the floor. "Gorgo!"
At that moment, Richarzon felt the impact of the pipe on his right calf, causing him to let out a heart-wrenching scream of pain. He barely had time to process it when he received a heavy blow to the back of his head, and then a third to his back, leaving him almost breathless.
"Do you know who's going to pay Do'cientos?" Sander asked him with a maniacal smile, as blood dripped from the pipe. You bast...
Before he could finish the sentence and deliver the fourth and final blow, Gorgo's fist brutally struck Sander's ribs. The blow was so strong that even the crackling of the debtor's rib cage could be heard.
Sander fell to the ground, writhing in pain, unable to move. Only his coughs echoed in the air, expelling small drops of blood.
"Richar... are you okay?" Gorgo asked, concerned. His partner could barely articulate coherent words.
"Please..." Sander said in an agonizing voice. But Gorgo just looked at him with contempt.
"Have mercy on me... I beg you..." the debtor finished.
Seeing his partner in that state only made Gorgo angry. Coldly, he approached Sander and placed his foot on the man's head. Sander tried to fight back, but it only took a little pressure to hear a slight crack and see him stop moving.
That was how the errand finally ended.
Gorgo turned his gaze to his companion. Carefully, he bent down and picked him up in his arms.
"Don't worry, Richar... you'll be fine," he whispered as he lifted him firmly and began to walk back along the same path they had traveled.
The silence of the alley was broken only by Gorgo's heavy footsteps and Richarzon's faint moans. The smell of blood and dust made the atmosphere even more repulsive, but Gorgo did not stop. His arms trembled under the weight of his companion, but there was no room for doubt. He had only one thought: "I have to get you out of here."
...
Three hours passed. Gorgo was sitting on a bench in the hallway of a luxurious building, next to the door leading to the private medical room of the Dediurity Foundation. Richar was being treated while he waited silently.
He stared at the floor, reflecting on the murder of the debtor. One question gnawed at his mind: "When did he stop caring about killing someone?"
He had been working for Do'cientos for six years. He had been successful, of course; the pay wasn't bad, and no one looked down on him like they used to. He had even forged a solid friendship with Richarzon. But even so, he couldn't help feeling that something was tying him down, weighing him down inside. As if he couldn't quite understand himself.
His world changed when he was subjected to the serum experiment: a lime green liquid injected into his veins that, seconds later, made all pain disappear from his body. Perhaps that was the reason he no longer felt remorse when killing. Or perhaps it was his own mind, his history, the life he had had to lead.
Whatever it was, Gorgo wanted to get rid of that feeling. He wanted to be able to feel good about himself and enjoy the life that was now opening up to him. Because, after all, the present is what matters.
Do'cientos emerged from the medical room wearing his elegant suit and dark green tie, having checked on Richarzon's condition.
"How is he?" Gorgo asked his boss.
"He's stable... he lost little blood despite the cut on his head," replied the man. "However, the blows left him with injuries that will take months to heal."
"I see... I'm glad to hear that."
"I have to go," added Do'cientos, looking impatiently at his watch. "My men are having problems with an old man and his land. Can you believe that a fifteen-year-old boy beat them all up effortlessly?"
"That's... impressive," admitted Gorgo.
"Not for us..." replied Do'cientos coldly. "I'll leave you now, I have to resolve this matter."
"See you later," said Gorgo, watching Do'cientos walk away down the long white corridor, walking quickly and with a tone of frustration in his step.
"He doesn't care about anything else... nothing but work..." murmured Gorgo, leaning his back against the wall. Then he looked up at the ceiling, sighed, and closed his eyes to wait.