Chapter 32: Gangs
Winter sunlight pierced the smog over Oluson in cold, slanting beams, falling between curtains of drifting rainbow snow.
Inside the briefing room, six people sat with straight backs and serious expressions.
Behind Kyle, the crystal display showed a power map of the Old Urban Area. Two regions were highlighted in harsh, warning red: the territory of the Snake Fang Gang and the Rustwater Brotherhood. The zones where they overlapped were pulsing like open wounds.
Kyle planted one hand on the table and began without preamble.
"New mission. The Snake Fang Gang has expanded too aggressively over the past few days and has begun encroaching on another faction's long held turf. Several clashes have already broken out near the Seventh Warehouse District. So far, the scale has been limited, but civilians in the surrounding blocks have already suffered property damage, and panic is spreading."
Baron let out a contemptuous snort before anyone else could speak.
"Rustwater? Those old fossils usually keep their heads down and stay in their lane."
"Which is exactly why this is worth taking seriously," Kyle said evenly. "A faction that old doesn't flare up for no reason."
His finger tapped the red zone on the map.
"Our assignment is mediation. We make Snake Fang back down, calm Rustwater, and keep this from turning into a real gang war. The Old Urban Area stays stable. Civilian sectors remain untouched. That is the priority."
Hodell listened quietly, his thoughts already moving ahead of the room.
Oluson's gangs were not strong in the same way official institutions were strong. Their real value was that they were slippery, rooted, and deeply entangled with the city itself. Wiping them out was possible, but it would require a full Security Squad lockdown and a great deal of time and political capital. Worse, one gang's destruction would alarm all the others. The moment the authorities overreached, the rest would unite out of pure self preservation.
For now, the Empire had chosen containment over eradication.
The gangs survived because they were useful.
The officials tolerated them because Oluson was too complicated to rule cleanly.
The gangs of Oluson were like a pack of half starved beasts circling each other in the dark. They could bite, they could bleed, but they were not allowed to tear the whole city apart.
The Rustwater Brotherhood was one of the oldest powers in the area. They ran black market parts recycling, illegal salvage lines, and other gray businesses that had existed longer than some official agencies in the New Era. They were still criminals, but disciplined ones. They understood lines. They understood proportion.
"Mediate?" Baron said, his lip curling. "We should just wipe out the lot of them."
Kyle gave him a single look.
"Violence is a last resort. In Oluson, rules are often more useful than fists. At least on the surface."
He straightened.
"Get ready."
No one argued after that.
...
Peace Tavern sat at a remote intersection like a chunk of forgotten iron hammered into the city.
The building was low, broad, and stubbornly solid. In the Old Era, it had stood within the sphere of influence of a neighboring great power and served as neutral ground for negotiations, smuggling deals, and temporary refuge from revenge killings. Now, the empire that had once claimed it was gone, leaving behind only a worn emblem above the lintel and a reputation that had somehow survived the collapse of an age.
When the heavy wooden door opened, stale tobacco, sweat, cheap alcohol, and old tension rolled out in a thick wave.
The lighting inside was sparse and mean. A few oil lamps burned along the walls, their flames so weak that the whole tavern looked less lit than haunted.
To the left sat the Rustwater Brotherhood.
Their men were quiet, broad shouldered, and dressed in coarse canvas work clothes. They looked like laborers who had spent too long in machine yards and too little in the sun. Their eyes were cold, their hands rough, their stillness heavy. Their leader, an old man with a weathered face and a spine like iron wire, sat alone at the front table, methodically polishing an intricate brass gear with a square of flannel.
The soft scrape of cloth over metal carried clearly through the silence.
To the right sat the Snake Fang Gang.
They were more numerous, less disciplined, and far louder even while trying to appear restrained. Their clothes were a patchwork of styles, but every man wore the same kind of standard magitech sidearm. In the dim light, the metal at their waists gleamed like a line of bared teeth.
Poison Fang lounged at the front, half his face submerged in shadow. His fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the tabletop. He was not smiling, but there was amusement in the curl of his mouth, the kind a man wore when he thought he already knew how the scene would end.
Between the two sides lay only a few steps of open floor.
It might as well have been a canyon.
Then the door creaked wider.
All eyes shifted at once.
Six shadows stretched through the entrance before the people themselves stepped in. The dust filled light cut their silhouettes into sharp lines across the floor, long and cold as drawn blades.
When they entered fully, the faint warmth inside the tavern was pushed back by the sour chill of winter air carried in on their coats. In the low light, the uniforms of the Rapid Response Department looked darker than usual, almost spectral.
But the emblems on their shoulders still caught the light.
They were bright enough to be an announcement.
These six did not belong here.
And they would not indulge the chaos of this place.
The old man from Rustwater lifted his chin in acknowledgement, weary and reserved, like a man watching a patrol light sweep over an alley he already knew too well. On the other side, Snake Fang's men stared back with the restless hostility of wild dogs forced to hold position.
Kyle led the squad to the head of the central table and sat.
"Everyone is here," he said.
His voice was not loud. It didn't need to be.
"Then there's no reason to waste time. You know why we called this meeting."
Poison Fang's brows drew together. He already disliked Kyle's tone.
The captain continued as though he hadn't noticed.
"The conflict in the Seventh Warehouse District ends now. Spells have already damaged civilian property. Panic is spreading into residential blocks. That crosses the line. Today, here, this matter gets settled."
The old man from Rustwater set down the gear he had been polishing.
His voice was hoarse, but steady.
"Captain Kyle, Rustwater only wants to do business in peace. Snake Fang crossed the line, injured our people, and broke the rules first."
Poison Fang barked a laugh and slammed his palm onto the table hard enough to rattle the empty cups.
"Old man, wake up. Times have changed. Stop talking like the city still belongs to your era."
He rose to his feet, and the men behind him did the same. Hands settled onto holstered weapons. Soft charging hums began to stir in the dark.
Then Poison Fang pointed at the pistols hanging from his people's belts and sneered across the table.
"Take a good look. We're armed. They're relics. That western warehouse line belongs to us now. If the Rustwater Brotherhood has any sense, they'll walk away before they embarrass themselves."
Baron's jaw clenched so hard the muscle twitched visibly.
Kyle's eyes hardened.
"The Snake Fang Gang will withdraw from the western side of the Seventh Warehouse District. You will compensate Rustwater for damages, and you will bear full responsibility for losses in nearby civilian sectors."
"Responsibility?" Poison Fang repeated, like he'd just heard the funniest word in the world.
He leaned forward, eyes glittering.
"Captain Kyle, are you still asleep? Or are you pretending not to understand where you are?"
He slapped the grip of the weapon at his waist, then swept a contemptuous look toward Rustwater's older, mismatched gear.
"The only law Oluson has ever respected is strength. We took that ground. That makes it ours."
He tapped the table once for each word.
"You want us to spit it back out?"
His smile sharpened.
"On what grounds?"
The tavern went still.
Even the lamplight seemed to tense.
Across the room, Rustwater's men shifted forward. Knuckles whitened around weapons. On Snake Fang's side, several men moved too, eager for an excuse.
Beside Hodell, Baron looked ready to launch himself over the table.
Hodell, however, felt the opposite of anger.
He felt unease.
Something about this was wrong.
Snake Fang was too aggressive. Too reckless. Too deliberate.
Either they were probing the limits of official tolerance, or they had no real interest in the outcome of this mediation at all. Their equipment was good. Too good for a gang that had risen this quickly. Their supply chain, their confidence, even Poison Fang's performance felt like the visible tip of something larger.
And where was Snake Fang's actual leader?
Why send Poison Fang, of all people, to a meeting this sensitive?
The answer formed just as the room reached its breaking point.
A shrill alert cut through the silence.
Kyle's badge lit up.
He looked down, received the message, and in the space of a second the air around him seemed to drop ten degrees.
When he raised his head, his voice was flat with anger.
"Just now, an armed squad stormed Sanctuary Sanatorium in the Seventh Warehouse District. Medical staff and patients were forced out. The building has been occupied."
Hodell's eyes narrowed.
Sanctuary Sanatorium was no ordinary clinic. It was one of the oldest and best private medical facilities in Oluson, a place frequented by the wealthy, the influential, and anyone rich enough to pay for treatment the public system couldn't provide.
Eileen inhaled sharply.
"They attacked a hospital?"
Baron's chair scraped against the floor as he half stood.
"Scum."
All the swagger on Poison Fang's face vanished and was replaced, almost too quickly, by carefully measured surprise.
He spread his hands.
"Captain Kyle, why are you looking at me like that? Every one of my men is here. We came to mediate in good faith. Everyone in this room can see that."
Then he tilted his head, tone almost innocent.
"Maybe the sanatorium has internal troubles. Maybe someone else made a move. Oluson is a dirty place. You can't throw every pile of filth onto Snake Fang."
Kyle stared at him.
For the first time that day, Poison Fang had stopped acting like a rabid dog and started acting like a man with a script.
Hodell understood it at once.
Diversion.
This entire meeting had been a smokescreen.
Poison Fang's arrogance had never been about winning the negotiation. It had been about keeping Kyle, the Third Squad, and Rustwater fully occupied here while another team struck elsewhere. As long as Snake Fang's representatives remained seated in the tavern, they had an alibi. Suspicion alone would not be enough.
The real objective had never been the western warehouse line.
And Snake Fang's true leader had stayed out of sight because he was either directing the operation elsewhere or meeting with someone more important.
Kyle's voice turned to iron.
"Whether you are responsible or not will be determined by investigation. But as of this moment, Snake Fang is the primary suspect. Poison Fang, none of you will leave this tavern. All personnel will submit to quarantine and review."
"Review?" Poison Fang scoffed. "On a guess?"
His tone sharpened, though there was now caution mixed into it.
"We can cooperate with questioning. But detain all of us? Captain, that affects business. Serious business. Ask your superiors if they're ready to throw the entire Old Urban Area into turmoil over suspicion with no proof."
It was a challenge, but not a wild one. He was tossing the problem right back into official hands, confident they had nothing solid enough to justify immediate action.
Kyle's expression darkened further.
He was just about to choose between stabilizing the room and sending support to the sanatorium when a small sound interrupted him.
Thud.
The old man from Rustwater had set the polished brass gear down on the table.
The motion was simple, but it drew every eye in the tavern.
He looked up at last.
"Captain Kyle," he said, voice rough with age, "they didn't hit the Seventh Warehouse District for territory."
Poison Fang's face changed.
"What are you babbling about, old man?"
Rustwater's leader ignored him completely.
"When I started surviving in Oluson, Snake Fang didn't even exist as a rumor. I've spent my whole life in this city. I know what a turf war looks like."
He reached into his coat and withdrew a crystal no larger than a matchbox, then slid it across the table to Kyle.
"This," he said, "was bought with one of my boys' lives."
The room went quieter still.
"He was hiding in a crack near the warehouse line when Snake Fang's people moved in. They weren't just after materials. They were looking for specific objects. Old Era valuables. Noble curios. Restricted pieces. And the same crystal records them talking about the sanatorium."
The old man's gaze shifted to Poison Fang, full of cold contempt.
"They wanted something stored there. Something urgently."
Poison Fang lurched to his feet so violently his chair nearly tipped.
"That's fake. A setup!"
But everyone knew how weak that sounded.
Current magitech could forge many things.
A recording crystal convincing enough to fool the authorities was not one of them.
Kyle grabbed the crystal, checked it, and in an instant the hesitation vanished from his face.
He spoke into his communicator immediately.
"Headquarters. This is Kyle. Mediation has failed. We have obtained key evidence linking Snake Fang to both the warehouse theft and the armed occupation of Sanctuary Sanatorium."
His voice grew colder with each word.
"I am requesting immediate implementation of Regional Blockade protocol. Cut their Magic Net communications. Lock down their external channels. Full isolation."
Now it was Snake Fang's turn to go pale.
Regional Blockade was not a warning. It was the closing of a fist.
Routes sealed. Communication cut. Retreat denied.
Poison Fang had clearly not expected the old man to produce anything concrete.
Kyle ended the transmission and looked up.
"Until the evidence is fully verified and new orders arrive, no one from Snake Fang takes a single step out of Peace Tavern."
As soon as he finished speaking, Baron and Sasha moved in perfect coordination, one taking the main exit, the other angling toward the rear approach.
…..
Check out my newly released fanfic on my second account: FanficLord02
I Became a Demon Sword and Traveled the Anime Worlds