Jones couldn’t see out of his left eye. He spat blood. A wicked smile settled on his face. Jones narrowed the gap between himself and one of his lieutenants, a man he thought would’ve, at worst, just walked away.

“Give up, old man,” Pedro sneered at his former boss. The younger man wasn’t even winded. “You are too slo-“

Jones ducked inside his range and let fly a series of punches and jabs. He battered Pedro’s defenses while easily countering any attacks thrown at him.

Pedro’s resistance wavered under the fury of Jones’s fists. In a split second, he went from exuding confidence to fear at being overpowered by a man he had underestimated. Pedro scrambled to defend himself against the crime boss. He was losing and wouldn’t, couldn’t, accept it.

Jones was relentless, finding a good rhythm to keep up his pace while keeping Pedro completely on the defensive. Finally, Jones could see in the other man’s eyes he had broken past his resolve. Pedro wasn’t defending as much as he was a punching bag.

The Flamingo didn’t stop. Whatever his personal thoughts on mercy were set aside for business. Jones beat Pedro to the cement ground, then kept pounding, beating the other man senseless. At long last, Jones straightened up, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm before spitting on the battered, broken, and unconscious man at his feet.

Melissa handed him a towel. Jones methodically cleaned off his hands before throwing the towel on Pedro. He then faced the remaining men of his inner circle. No one had said anything during the fight. They had stood in stony silence and watched, their tanned bronzed faces yielding nothing of their inner thoughts. The underground garage wasn’t where Jones wanted to do this, but Pedro had called him out. The echoes and low lighting made things a touch surreal.

“I don’t care if you don’t want in,” Jones growled, still buzzed from the fight. “But I won’t allow anyone to challenge me and get off easy. You’ve had plenty of time to think this over. I need decisions, now.” The men shifted uneasily, glancing at each other.

“Listen, boss,” Julio said as he took out his ever-present toothpick. He pointed the end of it at Jones as he pushed back his long brown hair. “Ain’t no one here stupid enough to challenge you except moron there,” he pointed his toothpick at Pedro, “so it ain’t about that.” He took a breath and looked for moral support. Seeing a few nods, Julio continued, “It’s just we aren’t exactly the choirboy crowd, you know what I’m saying, boss?”

“So?” Jones growled back. “So what?”

“So? Listen, we have a certain lifestyle we are accustomed to—”

“Which will mean jack squat once Legion invades,” Jones said, cutting off the other man harshly.

Julio didn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, boss, you made that point before, and it ain’t like I’m disagreeing with you about it, but we like what we has now, and trying to see how trading it for something, well, not it, ‘cause of Legion, well, it ain’t all that clear to us that’ll help, you know? Me and the rest of the boys are all kinda feeling like why not ride the good times to the end?” Julio stuck his toothpick back in to show he had said his piece.

Jones looked around the circle and saw the rest nodding. He understood. He had felt that way, too.

“I get you. I get all of you.” He looked at Melissa who smiled and handed him a cigar. Jones lit it up, puffing to get a good burn. His men waited, knowing it’d calm down their boss. “It’s like this,” Jones continued as soon as he felt he had organized his thoughts enough. “It’s a long-term, low-yield investment but it opens doors much later. Remember when we took on the old waterfront district? That place was nothing but old, rotting buildings and old, rotting bums. It took about three years to get the old customs building functional.”

“Oh yeah, I had to bribe the city inspectors almost monthly!” Miguel chimed in, getting a laugh from everyone involved.

“It seemed crazy. It wasn’t like there were businesses to offer protection for a small fee, or any reputable dens of vice to run, or even easy efforts like a dry-cleaning business to handle information networks and money laundering.” Jones stopped to take a long drag on his cigar. “Our enemies thought I had finally cracked and started circling the waters, thinking it was time to start taking pieces away from us. And then what happened?”

“Well, boss, the stuffed shirts at city hall gave you an award for ‘Citizen of the Year’ cause of you cleaning up that eyesore. Had a grand dinner and everything, with the Mayor smiling while he shook your hand up in front of the who’s who.” Julio chuckled at the memory.

“Yes, and then we had all sorts of connections, right?”

“Sure thing, boss. Sill use most of them today.”

“Now, I’m not saying I have any guarantees here for this, but having the Supreme Commander of the whole damn system owe us a favor can’t be a bad thing.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“And so what if we aren’t all polished and looking like we sit in the front pew in church? What did Christ hisself say to the thief next to him on the cross?”

“‘You’ll be in paradise.’”

“Yeah, and I’m not saying that’s us, but why not? Life’s a dirty business, we’re sure in the middle of that, but there’s more than just this.” Jones waved a hand around to indicate the world. He puffed on his cigar, giving them a little more time to think it over.

Julio looked around again to take the temperature of the group. He worked his toothpick for a bit. “K, I’m in. My Nanna is going to lose her mind. She’s been trying to get me to get in Church for years.”

“Let’s say I’m in too,” Miguel said, more slowly than Julio. “What does that mean for us? Like day-to-day? Do we stop doing what we normally do to go push Bible tracts?”

Jones grinned. “You’re going to love this part. It’s business as usual on one hand. But Sundays we’re holding revivals at key locations. Come on, I’ll show you the plan.” He looked down at Pedro groaning at his feet as the beaten man started coming to. “And someone dump this chump at the nearest hospital.”

Later in the day, Jones and Melissa were out by the pool as the sun set behind them.

The meeting had been far more successful than Jones had hoped. Aside from Pedro and two others who wisely took the buyout Jones offered instead of a beating; most of his lieutenants were on board. Jones was surprised how easy it was to persuade them to add.

“You know this will eventually unravel your empire,” Melissa said.

The wind kicked up a bit, tugging at her sunhat.

Jones took a long pull of his spiced rum. He coughed a little as the drink hit him. “Yeah, I know. I mean, that’s all depending on how long until Legion makes a real move.” He wanted to say more about what he was really feeling, but the words slipped away from him. Ever since he had talked with Lars about things, something had been gnawing at him on what felt like his soul. Jones hadn’t held much concern over the afterlife and the unseen realm. He was a businessman dealing in vice and sin. And yet, here he was, changing his entire operation, pushing it all down a path that would end everything he knew. And for what?

Jones took another swig.

“I’m not sure,” he started to say, then stopped.

Melissa looked at him expectantly and patiently. She knew he was more than just a bruiser, but coaxing him to speak about anything he kept close was a challenge. She could tell he was chewing on something important to him, and eventually he’d find the words to tell her.

Jones lit his cigar that had gone out without him noticing. The cigar was hand-rolled from leaves grown on a plantation he owned. There were better brands out there, he’d have admitted if anyone had asked, but these he trusted.

It’s like something outside of all this,” Jones waved his cigar around to indicate everything in sight, “something bigger than anything is nudging us.” He stopped again, confused about how to express what he was feeling.

“I—”

“Boss!” Franco, one of his bodyguards, burst in. “We got a problem!”

Jones took a drag on his cigar and held it for a slow count of three. “Yeah?” he growled around the smoke.

“One of the nightclubs, Promises—word on the street is it’s going to be hit tonight! We just got confirmation from our insiders. It’s the Jackals.”

“I thought they were on Thema Selene.”

“Yeah, boss, most of them are. Looks like they’re trying to expand down here.”

Jones mulled things over. “Look into the Four-Oh-Ones. I’d bet they’re hiring the Jackals. Tell the boys we’ll roll out before the club opens. And we’re rolling heavy.”

“On it, boss.”

Melissa sighed and settled back on her lounge chair, trying to enjoy the last of the sun’s rays. “I’ll take overwatch this time. I don’t like the Jackals.” She shuddered delicately. “Their mods creep me out. They get so obsessed over them.”

The Flamingo nodded. “They’ll attack from behind the club. Take the building to the southwest. It overlooks the alleyway and you can reposition to the front if you need to.”

She flipped a hand languidly at him. “Already pulling up the architectural diagrams, dear.”

Jones laughed.

“If the Four-Oh-Ones are involved they’ll send a crew to clear you out.”

“I’ll take a few fellows for support.”

Jones stood up, tossed back the rest of his rum, and walked to the short wall overlooking the sea, making plans. The Jackals would be down a crew before the night was over. He’d make sure of that.

Jones reclined in his favorite armchair in his private suite overlooking Promises’s dance floor. It was club beat night. The bass was pounding hard enough to even rattle the bulletproof windows. The filters on the same windows kept the strobe lights from being annoying.

On his command, his team had converted his suite into a makeshift HQ. The security office was still staffed as normal, but all data was copied and streamed to his suite’s systems. The rest of the team members were scattered throughout the club.

“Check in, One,” Lucas said over the team’s communications channel. He was running comms tonight.

“One checking in.”

“Check in, Two.”

“Two checking in.”

Jones tuned out the rest. He had them doing check-ins every minute, and this part of tediously waiting weighed heavy on him. He took a sip from his club soda and did his best to bear it.

“Check in, One.”

“John, two heavy vehicles pulled up at each end of the alleyway.” Melissa sounded excited.

Jones stood up, relieved to be doing something. “Alright, let’s go meet our guests. Don’t no one take stupid risks. We’re going in heavy.”

“Got it, boss!” the team sounded off.

Franco handed his boss an assault rifle. Jones took it, checked the sixty-round drum, and chambered a round before flipping it to auto. He lit another cigar and headed out as his team formed around him.

“Gunfire at the rear entrance. Looks like a two-team pincer formation.” Melissa’s voice crackled over the radio headsets. Line-of-sight laser communication gear meant no one could eavesdrop, but it also meant using headsets for the specialized encryption.

“Pick off anyone with heavy assault gear,” Jones ordered her.

“Dear, it’s the Jackals. They all have heavy assault gear.”

Jones chewed the end of his cigar as he walked. “Take out anyone who doesn’t look like someone in charge. I want to have a chat, and the low-level scum won’t know a damn thing.”

“On it.”

Jones couldn’t hear her shooting from inside, but he knew she wouldn’t have wasted any time.

“Boss, they stopped firing. Two are down already and looks like they’ve pulled back for now,” Lucas reported over their comms.

Jones nodded and picked up the pace. He reached the back of the building in record time.

“The Jackals rolled out some ballistic barricades,” Lucas updated Jones.

“Melissa?” Jones asked over the headset.

“I see them. Moving to a different position.”

Jones clenched his jaw in frustration. Maybe he should have called in a few favors with the local police and had them back him up. The Jackals were known for going hard, but this was already something else.

The back of the nightclub had one big service entrance for deliveries and a smaller door for anything else. The big door was shut and fortified; Jones had learned, long ago, that heavy security there saved a lot of potential headaches. He had his men stack up next to the back door.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Jones walked out into the alleyway. Two Jackals were advancing under the cover of thick ballistic plates. Jones aimed his rifle at them. They froze. Their misshapen, modded-up bodies set his teeth on edge.

“Ain’t too late to call quits on this,” he barked at them. “I’ll meet whatever the Fours paid you, and a little extra on top.”

The Jackals looked at each other.

“Lemme talk with our boss,” one of them shouted. Walking backward with the plates covering them and keeping a wary eye on Jones, they made it back to the mouth of the alleyway where other Jackals were milling about. Jones kept his rifle trained on them as they retreated slowly.

“Hey, John, I think I’m going to have company,” Melissa said over his headset.

Jones chewed on his cigar. “Need any help?”

“I don’t think so. Me and the boys can handle it.”

Jones spat out some tobacco. He didn’t have long to worry about Melissa before the first round buzzed past his head. He ducked back inside.

“Well, negotiations failed. Don’t leave anyone alive. No one has anything I want to hear,” he snarled. Turn down his generous offer, would they? Well, no one would live to regret that. He’d have to grill whoever they sent next.

His crew moved to the big loading door. A few more men showed up. Jones had four of them stack on the left, five on the right, and three in the middle.

“Once the door is open, take out anyone near and press forward. Diego is moving to block the exits. We’ll crush them between us. Emilio, you, Isaac, and Juan hold the center as overwatch for the others.” Jones puffed on his cigar as he personally inspected each of his men’s loadout and armor. He hoped it was enough gear to handle the Jackals. Jones knew his men were fierce fighters, but even still.

Jones paused at the front and looked over them. “You all know I ain’t much in the way of speeches but I have to say a few words.” He paused and chewed on his cigar before taking it out and tossing it aside. “Listen, the Jackals are armed to their metal teeth so fight smart. No heroics, watch your brother’s back.” He wanted to say more. “We ain’t choirboys”—the men guffawed at that—“but we ain’t devils, either. God’ll watch over us.” He paused again, trying to put his feelings into words. His free hand found his cross under his shirt. He pulled it out and let show. Some of the men crossed themselves. Jones nodded.

“Give ‘em hell, boys!”

The men roared out their approval. Jones joined the left side and slapped the emergency release button. The big door shot open fast enough to catch one of the Jackals off guard as he was approaching. There was roar of wordless shouting before the gunfire drowned out everything else.

Melissa yanked her blade from the throat of the last man who had attacked her and her bodyguards. She shook off the blood with a quick, whip-like motion before sheathing the sword. The Fours were sending some heavy-hitters. Today, Melissa regretted letting Gregory go after his failure at the hotel. That man was a serious fighter. The five with her today weren’t nearly as good as the Russian. She’d make do.

“Miss? This one is still alive.” Philippe held the man down as two other team members stripped him of his gear.

Gustav slapped two medipatches on the man’s gunshot entry and exit wound right below his left lung before injecting him with a stimulant. He and Philippe held the limp man up between them with his head hanging loosely.

“Check the rest,” Melissa ordered the other men. “Treat anyone still breathing. The Fours are playing hardball, but that doesn’t mean we have to be barbarians.”

“Yes, miss.”

The patched-up man coughed weakly, partially raising his head.

Melissa marched over to him and slapped him hard.

“Wha—” the man coughed harder and jerked into consciousness. He groggily took stock of his situation.

“We have a few questions for you,” Melissa began calmly.

“Ah, shi—”

“Who are you? Neck tat says you’re with the Fours and high enough rank to be selected for this mission,” Melissa pressed. She didn’t have a lot of time to interrogate him.

The man spat out some blood. He looked around and shrugged in defeat. “Doug.”

“Well, Doug, things aren’t looking good for you right now, but I promise I’ll do whatever I can to see you survive this.” Melissa held up one well-manicured finger. “If you play nice with us. Deal?”

Doug looked around again as if he wanted to confirm what he saw the first time and sunk into himself a little. “Don’t see I have much choice, but, sure. You have an accord.”

Melissa clapped her hands together in almost real delight. “Wonderful! How many did you send to kill me?”

Doug looked down at the floor. “Just the seven of us. With Gregory the Terrible out of the picture it looked like you’d be an easy target.” He gave a short, painful bark of a laugh. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“The price was right. Heard the Flamingo had gone soft.”

Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “Hold on. Someone paid you? You didn’t hire the Jackals?”

“Hire the—” Doug broke into a rough round of coughing. “Nah, we didn’t do that.”

Melissa swore as she ran to the window, picking up her sniper rifle in a fluid blur of motion. She popped the support legs out and tapped into the scope’s feed. She swept the rifle in short arcs to cover the alleyway. She could see the fighting on both ends. The Jackals were being driven back. She spotted John leading the push against the north group.

“John! Fall back! Now! We’re being duped! John!” She couldn’t keep the stress out of her voice.

“Babe, busy here.”

“BREAK OFF NOW!”

Melissa could see John hesitate for a split-second, then roar out something and start walking backward to the club, shooting to keep the Jackals at bay. She yanked off the rifle’s scope and shoved into the stock to protect it.

“We’re getting out here, now. Take Doug, but your lives are higher priority. Anyone else make it?”

“No, miss.”

She sighed. A small blessing. “Ok, let’s go. Stairs. Dean, take point.”

Someone was playing all three of them. Melissa wasn’t going to let that stand. As they moved down the building’s stairwell, she wrestled with a decision. Finally, as they were almost to the ground floor, she activated her normal communication gear.

Blaise, I have a favor to ask.

There was no time for pride here if she wanted her and John to get out of this trap alive.

Jones didn’t like anything he had heard. He stalked the empty dance floor, thinking as he listened to the reports coming in. Everything he had was under attack. He was expecting some retaliation, but not anywhere at this scale.

As soon as Melissa returned, they had cleared out the nightclub under the pretense of a gas leak. Jones had called in the local police to help. He knew this precinct was discreet and honorable. Once bought, they stayed bought.

The Jackals remained quiet and out of sight as the club emptied. Jones hazarded a guess that someone didn’t want things to escalate. Bad PR for sure. Or maybe they didn’t want to tip their hand just yet until they had isolated Jones and his people.

Jones stopped pacing long enough to focus on the police captain when he entered the room.

“Well?” Jones snapped.

The captain pushed back his cap. “We cleared out everyone. Paramedics are on the scene to take care of your injured. St. Marco’s doesn’t ask questions when we tell them not to.”

Jones let out a gusty sigh. Some good news. “Thanks, Captain. We’ll take it from here. I don’t want your men caught in the crossfire. Tell your grandma if she needs anything, anything at all, she just needs to ask.”

“Thank you kindly, sir. I’ll pass on the message. She appreciates the monthly flowers.” And with that, the captain showed himself out.

Where are we?” Jones demanded of his crew in general.

“Right now, we’re in a holding pattern, dear. Blaise is counter-attacking with the full resources of the Coalition. We’ve got our networking teams tracing the attacks. We’ve lost eighteen percent of our total assets before we plugged the holes. Accounting team is working to reclaim most it. The real estate team rebuffed anything thrown at them, who knew blockchain deeds would be so helpful here?”

Jones lit his dead cigar and held the smoke in for a slow count of ten before blowing out rings while his mind raced over plans. “And the Jackals are still outside?”

“Yeah, boss,” Marco, the head of security answered.

“Any luck getting Marcel on the horn?”

“No, boss, the Fours ain’t even acking our pings,” Lucas answered.

Jones resumed pacing, blowing out thick clouds of smoke, not really enjoying his cigar.

“You’re right, Melissa. We’re all being played,” Jones snapped. “Us, the Jackals, the Four-Oh-Ones. And played hard.”

He made up his mind.

“Gear me up. I’m going to force the Jackals to play ball with us.”

Melissa sighed delicately before nodding. “Your call.”

Within minutes, they had Jones in a makeshift armored suit. Vitals were covered, joints protected. Jones flexed the gloves and smacked a fist into his open palm. The knuckle bar felt solid.

“Hold on a second,” Melissa said as she rummaged through her purse. She pulled out a portable flat printer. She messed with the settings before pressing it against Jones’s chest plate. She stepped back to admire her handiwork. A bold pink flamingo graced the plate, one leg raised as it stood tall. “Looks good. I usually paint designs on my nails and firearms with this. It’s nice to see it works on ceramic ballistic plating.”

Arms raised and unarmed, Jones walked toward the biggest group of Jackals.

“I just wanna talk!” he boomed out.

The first rounds were from small arms and clattered and zinged against him. Jones thanked God they weren’t using anything bigger. He kept moving forward a few more paces. Then the firing stopped.

There was commotion in the Jackals’ ranks. A hulking monster, easily six-foot-eight, lurched into the front and thumped its way over to where Jones was standing, servo motors humming. Jones wasn’t even sure if the Jackal had any more organics in it or if it was all cybernetics.

“Whadda want?” crackled the Jackal’s voxcoder, flat and harsh.

“This ain’t working for either of us. We’re both being played. I know the Fours didn’t pay you and I don’t care who did. We can keep trying to kill each other or I buy you off.”

The Jackal’s four red photoreceptors where his eyes used to be didn’t waver. “Instead, how about you and I figh—”

Jones launched himself at the Jackal without hesitation, coming in hard and fast with a haymaker, putting his full force into it, aimed at the Jackal’s chest dead center. He stuck the Jackal with a blow that would have killed a lesser man on the spot. An earth-shattering gong resonated from the Jackal’s metal torso from where Jones’s armored fist struck. Not waiting to see the results of the punch, Jones followed up with his left by throwing an uppercut, risking extending himself fully to connect. The blow landed on the Jackal’s jaw, this time without the accompanying bell-like tone, instead there was a harsh ringing. Keeping his momentum going, Jones swarmed up the Jackal’s body, swung around to sit on his shoulders, then wrapping the head up in a two-arm clasp. Straining, Jones used everything he had to pull up on his opponent’s head. His muscles bulged and veins popped as Jones threw everything he had into it.

The Jackal recovered from the sudden fury of Jones’s charge. He grappled for a grip on Jones’s armor, slowly finding purchase on the makeshift ensemble. The Jackal tore off Jones’s left leg armor. Jones shifted to get better leverage, not letting up for a microsecond.

The Jackal hunched a little, tensed, and leapt backward, slamming Jones and himself into a brick wall. Jones grunted but held on as the Jackal tried to shake him loose. The makeshift armor held against the buffeting.

The Jackal ripped off the pieces he could grab, before digging his claws into Jones’s legs. Jones started losing feeling in his lower body. He had to end this fast or he’d be torn to shreds.

Gritting his teeth, Jones could feel the head shifting and loosening. He buckled down, clamping his legs around the other’s torso. He could feel something in the neck pop.

“I yield.” The Jackal patted Jones’s leg.

With a grunt, Jones swung off the Jackal and landed heavily on his feet, trying to keep his balance. He was breathing heavy from the exertion. His legs feel like they were on fire and his whole body ached. He warily watched the Jackal.

The Jackal swayed for a moment, trying to recover.

“We’ll withdraw.” The voxcoder held no emotion.

Jones nodded but didn’t let down his guard.

The Jackal stomped back to his waiting crew. There was a flurry of activity as they packed it in.

Then the Jackals were gone.

Jones waited a minute to see if they had really left. He limped back to the club, relieved that one problem had been resolved.