It started with a girl's night.
Lucy had been far too focused on work lately; it had been weeks since she'd last seen Levy. And as Lucy's best friend, Levy couldn't simply stand by idly as her friend worked herself to death. No—Lucy needed a night off, one single night to let off all of the steam from work over a couple fruity drinks and pub food. Levy had arranged this night with Lucy nearly two months in advance—it was the first night Lucy had free from work—determined to get her best friend to lighten up, if only for a few hours.
It was a good idea, Lucy had thought. She had been overworked lately. She did need a break. But it wasn't easy for her to stop working; she absolutely adored her job. It was the job of her dreams, what she'd thought about as a child when she was bored. Journalism.
It was a rough industry to crack. You had to work hard, know the right people, make connections….all while constantly writing stories and blurbs at a consistently high quality output. It wasn't an easy job, but it was the perfect job for Lucy. She spent her mornings, afternoons, and evenings putting her entire heart and soul into her work. It kept her up at night, woke her up early. It was her entire world.
But one night off…it sounded nice. She could take one break and dive right into it. Hell, maybe she'd encounter something worthy of a story.
A girl's night.
A great idea. But Levy's execution was terrible.
Levy forgot. That's the trouble of booking one night two months in advance—you don't remember. She'd completely lapsed the memory that tonight was the night of their get together, and accidentally agreed to take the night shift at work.
She remembered eventually, but what was done was done.
Lucy let out a disappointed sigh, reading the apologetic text on her phone from Levy. "Working, huh?" Lucy murmured to herself, shaking her head. She glanced to her mirror, her eyes tracing over the outfit she'd chosen. Short, tight skirt and sky-high heels—she'd been planning to let loose tonight. Oh well. "Ironic."
She sighed again, thinking over her two options: take her dress and heels off, change into her pajamas and read a book in bed or go out anyways, have a good time, and let off some steam.
As much as she adored her job, Lucy had to admit that the constant work was taking a toll on her. She was getting stressed—too stressed—and eventually, something would have to break. Really, she needed this night out. For her health.
She grinned to herself as she walked to her door, high heels clicking on the wood floors.
A night out alone wasn't as fun as Lucy had initially thought.
She'd gone to the most popular club in the city; the line was long but the bouncer saw her walking by and allowed her to cut in. She'd gone inside, expecting to have an amazing night, but instead found herself rather uncomfortable.
The music was loud, the lights would range from blinding her to being practically nonexistent. People were dancing too close to her, crowding her, making her claustrophobic. Not quite finding the release she'd been searching for, she made her way to the bar; it took fifteen minutes for the bartender to notice her amongst the extremely large crowd, and the drink made for her tasted awful.
She left rather quickly.
Maybe this would be a good article, Lucy thought to herself as she made her way down the dark street, away from the club, Fiore's most overrated night out.
Lucy walked for god knows how long, putting off the task of going home. Because going home now meant admitting defeat—having a lame night off, putting on pyjamas, reading some cheesy book Levy had leant her. She pressed on, craving something more from tonight—although, she wasn't sure what it was she was after.
After nearly forty minutes of wandering the streets of Crocus, it began to rain. Fat droplets fell from the skies, assaulting Lucy and her rather skimpy outfit; she hissed, swearing under her breath as she glanced around for anywhere to hide.
Her eyes landed on a small bar across the street. From the outside, the interior lights were a soft glow; music could be heard through the door. Lucy shook her head, figuring it was better than freezing to death in the rain. Besides, she wasn't exactly in the greatest part of town—it might be better to sit in a bar and order a cab.
The second Lucy entered the bar, she regretted it. She swung the door open and stepped in, and immediately all of the bar patrons turned and looked at her. The entire bar fell quiet, every eye on her.
Normally, she would've blushed. She would've been flattered. But these weren't regular bar patrons turning to look at her for her beauty; these were large men with tattoos under their eyes, shocked that anyone had dared to enter their space.
Lucy swallowed, feeling unsafe. A large group of men entered behind her, slowly pushing her into the building and further away from the door. Big men with arms covered in tattoos glared at her as she stumbled past. Lucy pressed forward, wondering why the hell she ever decided to wear such a short skirt. Desperate, she made her way over to the bar in the hopes that the bartender might bring her some solace.
Unfortunately, he did not. He looked just like the bar patrons: big, angry, tattoos. Except the bartender had a very noticeable scar on his neck—what appeared to be a healed over stab wound. Lucy shrunk into the bar stool.
The bartender spoke to her, his voice deep. "You're lost, little lady."
Lucy cowered in her seat, fully aware of what the bartender was implicating. You don't belong here. You aren't safe here. You shouldn't have come here. She turned to look towards the door, desperate for an escape from the looming danger within the bar; however, several large men by the door gave her dark looks, implying they wouldn't let her past.
Lucy noticed every person in the bar had an extremely familiar tattoo on them—one that affiliated them with a local gang. Lucy had written several articles on the gang action in Crocus, and she instantly recognized the symbol.
The shadows.
There were two gangs in Crocus that were becoming quite troubling for the people, and the shadows were one of them.
"Oh god," Lucy whispered to herself. "I'm going to die here."
But before the men could take a step towards her, the entire bar's attention was diverted elsewhere; the doors swung open and a different group of men walked in. Something about their presence altered the behavior of every single person in the bar. Suddenly these burly, bearded men were standing and cowering away, careful to diver their eyes and shut their mouths around the new guests.
This group of men was different looking—their tattoos weren't the same as the rest of the men in the bar. No, this group had tattoos indicating that they were affiliated with the shadows' main rival, the other strongest gang in Fiore—the brotherhood. A few of the individuals matched the aesthetic of the rest of the bar patrons—burly, tattooed, angry—but there were two specific men that seemed incredibly different than the rest.
One of them had long black hair and was covered in piercings. Although he was also fairly large, he had a different expression on his face. Rather than appearing disgruntled like the others, he had a fierce grin on his lips. He sauntered in with his crew, dark eyes darting around the room, looking for something specific.
The other man that stood out was beside him. His hair was bright pink messy spikes. His expression was twisted into a bored look; he seemed annoyed that he was there. Still, his eyes searched the room, seemingly looking for the same thing as the guy with the piercings.
Both of the men were much younger than everyone else. While the average age of the men in the room was around forty, these young men appeared closer to Lucy's age. Twenty two, maybe.
The bar fell dead quiet; there wasn't a single whisper within the place.
Lucy was shivering with fear.
After several seconds of quiet, the pink haired boy spoke up. "Drazen," He spat, voice flat. "We're here for Drazen."
More silence. The bar-goers didn't seem sure of what to do; they each glanced around at each other, not speaking.
The pink haired boy rolled his eyes. "Drazen—or you're all dead."
Someone in the far back cleared their throat. "He's right here!"
The boy with the piercings grinned; the group moved towards the back, where the voice came from. In doing so, they were getting closer to Lucy's bar stool.
The group stopped in front of a table; the table cleared, revealing one single man left behind. He was absolutely shivering with fear; sweat was dripping down his forehead, running off of his nose and splattering on his stained jeans.
"That's a nice tattoo," The pink haired boy murmured, taking a seat across from the man, eyeing the shadows tattoo on his arm. "I remember you having a different one not long ago."
The man's voice was shaky, quivering. "I paid my sentence!" He sputtered. "I left the brotherhood!"
The pink haired boy cocked his head to the side. "You don't leave the brotherhood."
"I—I—I did my time, I did everything he asked of me—I just want to be left in peace!"
The boy with the piercings spat out a chuckle. "You asked for retirement—which he happily allowed. And then we hear you runnin' off, joining the shadows?" He shook his head. "That's cold, man."
The man, Drazen, began to shake harder. "Please—you've got to believe me—they lent me money, that's it! I needed the money!"
The pink haired boy didn't seem impressed. "You know he won't care," He muttered, grabbing Drazen's beer and chugging it back. "You're a traitor, now."
"Please—no!"
The pink haired boy finished off the beer and set it down on the table. "The brotherhood can't risk a traitor."
Drazen's eyes were wild. "Please, kid, you've got to understand, please—"
The pink haired boy leaned over the table, whispering in the man's ear; it was so quiet that Lucy could just barely hear what he'd said.
"Goodbye."
Before Lucy could question what the pink haired boy's words meant, he was moving; he brought his arm forward, almost as if he were going to rest his hand on Drazen's shoulder. Except, he didn't. And then, the entire room fell into chaos.
Everyone was moving, all at once. Every person in the bar, even the bartender, was lunging forward, weapons ready. Knives, forks, any utensil that could be used to wound was held in their palms, going towards the group from the brotherhood.
Lucy let out a shriek, realizing what had just happened. The pink haired boy had sunk a knife deep into the chest of the man at the table without even flinching.
The pink haired boy turned back to face the wrath of the shadows, leaving the man at the table with a knife to the heart; he reached quickly into his pocket, pulling a pistol. The rest of his group moved to action, too; they began to hit, stab, kill the shadows that came at them. The pink haired boy locked his jaw, turning the pistol onto anyone that came near him. One by one, each man that had been at the bar—a member of the shadows—was brought down. Bodies piled around the group from the brotherhood, blood beginning to pool on the uneven wooden floor.
Lucy didn't realize she was screaming until all of the men turned their attention to her. She was on the floor now, huddled between the bar stool and the bar, hands over her head. Her ears were ringing from the gunshots, her head spinning from the incredible amount of death she'd just witnessed. Her stomach was flopping. Blood from a nearby body began to trickle towards her.
"Shut that bitch up," One of the men spat, nodding at Lucy on the ground.
She hadn't intended to scream—it had just happened. And she couldn't stop. Shock coursed through her veins, taking away any control she had over herself. She was shaking, eyes wide at the blood on the floor, screeching.
There was a sigh. "I got it."
Before she knew it, there was a body beside hers. Someone kneeling down beside her, a hand hesitantly touching her elbow. "Hey," the voice said, but it was far away and hard for her to hear. She felt faint, but she was aware enough to flinch away from the stranger's hand. "Breathe. It's okay."
Lucy took a breath like the voice advised. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath this entire time. She turned, big brown eyes wide, peering up at the person beside her. To her absolute horror, it was the pink haired boy. His head was cocked to the side and his face was messed up into a confused frown, no hint of shock or guilt for murdering dozens of men apparent on his face.
Looking at him made her stomach twist, and before she knew it she was vomiting on the floor.
The boy patted her back awkwardly as she puked. He tugged a few blonde strands of hair out of her face, ensuring they didn't get caught in the mess.
Once Lucy had emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor and was again aware of what was going on, she smacked his hand away; she pushed away from him, falling onto her ass. She scooted back as far as she could, her back crashing into the next stool over. She was panting, stomach and chest aching, big brown eyes looking at the boy, horrified.
"Aw, come on. I'm trying to help."
"Get away from me!" Lucy cried, fear beginning to build back up in her veins. "Help! Help—someone, please!" She screamed, her voice smashing through the dead silence in the bar.
One of the other men gave the pink haired boy a sharp glance. "Kid—shut her up."
The boy seemed annoyed. "Yeah, yeah. It's fine." His dark eyes turned back to Lucy. "You're okay—okay?"
"Help!" Lucy cried, eyes wild. "Help, please!"
There was no logic in her actions. She cried for help, begged for someone to take her away from these murderers—but they'd killed everyone in the building. And if anyone heard her from outside, they'd kill them too.
They were probably going to kill her, too.
She screamed louder.
The pink haired boy sighed. He glanced up, giving a look to the boy with the piercings. "Gajeel?" He called, then nodded down to the blonde. "To the bridge."
Lucy heart froze, knowing what that meant. This was the end—this was how she died. Gang members tossing her body into the freezing river. She screamed louder and louder, fighting the black haired boy off when he tried to pick her up. She kicked and she bit and she punched when he got close, but it wasn't enough to keep him away; he was stronger than her and overwhelmed her easily. Eventually he got annoyed with her and just grabbed her waist, hauling her over his shoulders. She kicked and screamed and fought, but it didn't seem to affect him.
He tossed her into the back of a car. She looked out the windows, screaming for help; the windows were blacked out so much that she couldn't see.
Before she had the chance to squeeze her way out and escape, the pink haired boy had a handcuff around her wrist, tying her to the seat.
"Please," Lucy cried, tears streaming down her red cheeks. Her voice was hoarse from screaming so much. "Please don't kill me."
The pink haired boy laughed, and then closed the door.