Silence was a state desired by many. A moment of peace and calm - a moment that was anything but. Silence spoke of danger, of the unknown, of a calm before a storm, or the aftermath of one. One mustn't trust silence, one mustn't trust speechlessness, and must instead look deeper.

"Boss," a radio buzzed. "Target spotted escaping. He's now standing just at the edge of our territory."

But more than that, silence spoke of contemplation, of the ability to take the words and give them importance, or the opposite in pure idiocy. Understanding and not, a sharp eye could easily discern what the silence entailed, and his men were nothing but sharp.

"We wait."

Silence was an acknowledgement, a wordless confirmation, for better or for worse. He knew better, however, and so did his men. A click followed by an affirmative was as much as he heard for the following minutes. Where there was once gunfire, explosions, and endless noise came silence, and his men knew not to break it. Silence reflected the atmosphere, somber or excited, but neither could apply to every situation.

The chains on his arms rattled as he brushed over them, and he could feel eyes on him. Respectful and fearful were among many of the gazes, but in the end, they all knew what these chains stood for. What he stood for, as their boss and leader. And what they, the men, stood for.

"Boss, I think I hear him laughing?" the voice clicked halfway through a gulp, but it returned a few seconds later. "He's leaving? No, wait, he's.. Climbing? What..?"

"Toward us or away?"

"I can't see him from where I'm standing, but I think he's moving-"

"Boss, I think I see his shadow running on the roofs. He's coming closer," another voice interjected, and the boss hummed.

"Move into position, and keep him in your sights," the radio spat out a jumble of yesses, and his men streamed out, following their orders.

Rather than tread behind them, he took to the roof overlooking the wide street of his new land. It was beautiful, and prime real estate, but no one would dare settle when a cockroach made sure to jump around and scare them away each night. That cockroach would be exterminated tonight, and the ample bait would no doubt drive it into the corner.

From the corner of his eyes, he spotted the same shadow his men had alerted him about, his movements nimble, and his jumps filled with confidence. The mask on his face was expressionless, but loud and clear was his excitement, his anticipation for blood and gore. For the stench of rot and copper.

He was a full two-laned street across, and a building farther from where the masked menace stood, but that didn't mean anything. Aura was a tool, a weapon, and his gateway into power. Power that allowed him to effortlessly leap the width of the street and more.

When he stepped closer, the moon made his opponent appear clearer. Clothes were torn, charred, and all manner of ruined, but the masked man stood without a single clue of weakness. He was instead leaning over the roof, a small gun plastered in one hand, but not yet aiming at the men down below.

A sneer drew itself over the gang leader's face, and he whispered into his radio. The men knew what to expect, but the masked man didn't. The click had him flinch and rush to look behind him, but the gang leader hadn't stood still. Footsteps echoed, and the masked menace lifted his gun in his panic, but he didn't expect an immediate shoulder charge.

The roof's concrete fencing broke after a single gunshot broke the silence, and the menace flailed in the air as gravity took him. The gun flew out of his hand and fell beside him, the two crashing to the ground - one with a loud thud and a sharp exhale, and the other with a clatter and shatter.

The gang leader peered over the broken ledge, and his men were only surprised for a few seconds at most. After the shock had passed, they all fanned out into a makeshift circle around the trembling body of the masked menace, and where there was once conversation between them, silence took over after they pulled out their weapons, each clicking their safety off.

In that moment, they could have gunned the man down, and he would have been dead meat, Aura or not. But purpose had them hold back. Visibly, they were steady, their aim trained and their fingers just one tap away from firing, but even from where he stood, four floors and a roof above, he could see a hint of fear in their eyes.

This was the man who terrorized the streets for nearly two weeks. Men had perished by his hands - entire gangs had disappeared and dismantled within days, and he was right in front of them, struggling to stand up, but steadiness could be seen returning to him at a speed that even surprised even the more experienced thugs.

The gang leader could smell it from where he stood, however. When the masked menace came to, he froze, his head seemingly creaking as he took in the situation.

"Typically, I'd say you're a hard man to find," the gang leader spoke, and the masked Atlesian snapped his gaze toward him, "but, with the way you've been moving, we really only had to wait for you to fall right into our laps."

Some of his men chuckled, and amidst the stillness in the air, a gulp that echoed made even himself struggle to keep a straight face. He readjusted his sunglasses, and held his hands behind his back, the chains making sure to announce their presence.

"The Ghost of Walkerway," the gang leader started, "so mysterious, and so invisible. Silent yet deadly, but not silent enough to prevent a ruckus happening with each step he takes."

The masked man, the Ghost of Walkerway, switched his gaze away from the gang leader, and that made him hum. Was it arrogance, or was it a cunning mind looking for a way out?

"The Hoarders were big, you know," that grabbed the blond's attention. "Holding pieces in some of the more coveted places, and in just one afternoon, their entire upper brass went poof. Their leader's body couldn't even be recovered, can you believe that?"

The Ghost's hands clenched, and the gang leader's eyes narrowed. From the corner of his vision he could see his men restructure, and that made him smile, "Amidst the chaos, you pop out of the building, then disappear not too long after. The footage was honestly quite interesting, you know?"

The blond hadn't moved, but the gang leader knew that his words were hitting the mark. A nearly imperceptible shimmer surrounded the masked man's arms, and that forced the leader to fan his arms out.

"I'm thankful, really," the shimmer died out. "You've been a big help by slaughtering your way in this territory, and it was then I realized this was no coincidence."

A big, genuine smile graced his lips, "It was a blessing from the Brothers themselves."

In that moment, he could imagine the blond's eyes widening while staring at him, but he couldn't help but raise his brows. He hadn't said something outlandish, and certainly the nods of his men were genuine in agreement. Atlesian things, perhaps?

"We've had eyes on this part of Vacuo for some time, then you just swoop in and turn the streets red. Some alleys still stink, but that's a job for the cleaners, wouldn't you say so?"

The Ghost of Walkerway stood silently, and that was a good sign. From where he stood, he could smell the fear, the terror, and all of it was derived from the silence. A carefree smile drew itself on his lips, and he tapped his head.

"It felt strange at first. We thought it was some block looking to expand, or maybe even assassination from the big ones on the opposite side of town, but then we saw," he chuckled. "Rather, it wasn't us who had seen it, but a friend some neighborhoods away just woke up to the sound of gunfire below, where no gang would willingly fight, and then his window breaks."

He could feel the blond tremble, but it wasn't out of fear. Grinning, he continued, "Color me surprised when he reveals that the big mysterious Ghost of Walkerway was just another Atlesian, but I'm not one to complain. Specifically when you bled the land and left it for grabs. Our grabs."

"What do you want from me?" A young voice shouted in anger coated with deep frustration, and a hint of disbelief.

The Atlesian didn't look away when he was talking after the last time, which meant he had no idea what his men were doing, "Good. Good, you're quick on the uptake."

The gang leader pointed at the Ghost of Walkerway, "Let's be clear from the get-go, Ghost? I'm gonna call you Ghost. So!"

The clap had the blond flinch, and he couldn't help but stifle a chuckle, "You've been some major help, a real blessing, and we'd like to keep it that way."

Waving his arms, the men lowered their guns, and it was then the blond understood that his life was not in his own hands, but the gang leader's. "Deal's simple: you keep doing what you're doing, and we'll even be your allies while you're at it. Weapons, information, you name it, but it's not good for business if you go around on an aimless rampage, so you'll have to be under our management."

That apparently made the blond uncomfortable if the way his clenched hands were shaking was a sign. "To sweeten up the deal further, we'll pay you for every confirmed kill, and all of us will live happily ever after, wouldn't you say so?"

The Ghost of Walkerway unwound his hands, and he straightened his body, his deep brown eyes peering into his own soul. Even though they were practically five floors apart, he could see the conviction in them, a will that made the silence even louder.

"A shame."

With a loud call, the gang leader ordered his men to attack, but he didn't expect the blond to gather a ball of blue light and hurl it toward his men. What the blond didn't expect, however, was for one of his men to exclaim, "He's throwing a light bomb"!

What the gang leader himself didn't expect was for yet another bomb to fly toward him, and he had to hop away from the ledge to save himself from its destructive power. Gunshots muffled as the bomb exploded a few meters away from him, his sunglasses saving him from the brunt of its light, but none of the sand that blew at his shoes. The gang leader rushed to observe the fight below, but the dust masked his vision. He grit his teeth and nearly jumped down then and there, but the sound of a scuffle told him his plan hadn't yet failed.

Seconds after, the smoke had passed, and his gaze spotted the blond tumbling close to his side of the street, but he was able to straighten up while soaking a hail of gunfire. Floating blue plates blocked some of the bullets, but both the concentration and rain were broken when an Aura user pounced on the Ghost, her hand flying toward his mask.

The fist halted as soon as it touched the blue plate, a shield, and he retaliated with a punch of his own.

She was trained better than to fall for such a telegraphed attack, but the gang leader couldn't help but feel confused at why she seemed so startled. Regardless, she still attacked with efficiency, but she had underestimated the Ghost and had a pair of glowing blue shoes strike her in the chest.

As soon as they both fell to the ground, the Ghost recovered quicker, and pulled a gun out of nowhere, giving credence to the footage and his friend's sightings. The Ghost was apparently a magician, or maybe a semblance?

A couple of shots was all he was allowed as his men made to defend their ally, and it was within this time that the Aura user stood up and slapped the gun out of the blond's hand. A double slap it became when her backhand turned into a full palm strike to his cheek, nearly toppling the Ghost and forcing him to teeter on one leg.

Both her and the gang leader spotted the opportunity, and she made sure to capitalize on it, swiping the blond's legs from beneath him, and he fell sideways till his head was the first to meet ground.

Humming, the gang leader expected the fight to end there, but the Atlesian had managed to roll out of the way of a stomp, one that would have no doubt crushed his head as it did the asphalt, and she made to repeat only for her foot to be grabbed before landing on his chest.

A pull was all he needed for the Aura user to yelp, and she quickly found her face hitting the sidewalk. Rather than let go, the blond stood up with her leg in hand, and once he was on his feet, he roared before throwing her at a gathering of his men, forcing them to scatter.

Not to let the momentum go, the Ghost pulled out yet another gun from thin air and blasted at his men. The gang leader had seen enough, and the Ghost of Walkerway had clearly shown all his hands. Not only that, he was running away, and that wouldn't stand.

With a grunt, the chains around the gang leader rattled as he soared in the air. The blond was moving at full speed away from the fight, but he hadn't accounted for the chain that struck him right in the leg. Even if it was glowing, even if his Aura was still up, the Ghost toppled with a howl of agony. His body skidded as he rolled toward a sidewalk, making the gang leader realize how far they had moved away from the ambush spot.

But it didn't matter. The blond's back had struck the elevation, and his body had unconsciously curled, hands gripping his no doubt shattered leg. With a sneer, the gang leader strolled at the Atlesian, but he couldn't help but blink beneath the sunglasses.

With rapid huffs and the power of bullshit, the Ghost let go of his leg and began getting on his feet, a mix of fear and fearlessness clouding his eyes.

Impressed was how the gang leader would describe himself at that moment, but his response was a chain that struck the elevation of the sidewalk, causing a large gash in it. A warning, but the blond still lifted his body up, forcing himself to stand and prepare to continue the fight, and that made the gang leader smirk.

His chain was unwound, spinning in the air not unlike a fan, the sharp whooshes a constant reminder of its threat. A threat that he acted upon as soon as he saw the blond coil his fist around something, the steel striking him right into a hasty block, a blue barrier and a green glow surprisingly dampening the force, but not for long.

When the Aura seemingly flickered, the gang leader knew to capitalize on it within the moment, and the chain snapped at the Ghost's unprotected knee. A faint blue shield tried to stand in the weapon's way, but it dissipated into smoke as soon as it touched, and the steel found itself brutally cracking into the blond's knee.

Aura held on, however weak it was, but the blond was on all fours. With the chains retracted, the gang leader laughed with a jump, and he could see the blond's shaky eyes widen from beneath the mask. A hammerfist struck, and the Ghost rocketed face first into the asphalt, both him and his Aura out of breath.

The shattering of green was like music to his ears, and he expected the Ghost to be unconscious, but after a few seconds, the splaying arms took shape and hands were planted firmly on the ground. Trembling limbs fought to keep the blond's head up, and it was then the gang leader couldn't help but clap.

"Impressive. Your tenacity really is like that of a ghost, isn't it? Unwilling to let go of the mortal realm, what a fitting name," he chuckled, then his hands paused. "But not enough."

Helping the Atlesian, the gang leader roughly grabbed him by the hair and pulled him so that they were both on the same level, "You've rejected my offer from before, but now that we're both clear, let me offer it to you once more."

The blond had his eyes shut, no doubt from the pain, and the gang leader was willing to entertain him for a few more seconds had his scroll not began ringing. The blond fell helplessly to the ground, and the gang leader walked away to answer. The fight was already over, and he had to answer. His scroll was always silent, the very few who knew of its number understanding that calling it meant an emergency.

While he was pulling it out of his pocket, he heard a clinking before something touched his heel. He turned to look at the cause before his eyes widened, and he spotted the Ghost with a gun shakily trained on it.

"F-fuck you."

As the gang leader jumped away, he couldn't help but stare with wide eyes. He was going to blow both of them up, the canister too big for the distance between the two of them. The Ghost of Walkerway was so determined to not work with them that he was willing to take his life with his own hands.

"You suicidal-"

Click.

The gang leader braced himself, but he heard another click. An untold amount of clicks filled the silence until it stopped, and the gun fell clattering. At that moment, the gang leader took two steps back with a gaping mouth, and he began coughing. His coughs turned into stutters, and the stutters ascended into full blown guffaw. The laughter filled the street, and a tear slid from under the sunglasses as he regained control of his emotions.

"Fuck. Oh Oum, that was good," the tail of mirth echoed in his voice.

His ears then picked up the blond cursing endlessly, and a new gun in hand, this time barely able to stay steady. The gang leader schooled his expression, and he approached the canister.

"Cute, very cute, but we'll have to end this little game."

Before the Atlesian could realize what hit him, the canister ricocheted off his head with a loud crack, parts of the mask peeling off not unlike pieces of the moon. The force had flipped the blond onto his back where the edge of the sidewalk dug into his spine resulting in a weak series of breaths.

As the gang leader trained one of his guns at the blond, he saw the mask lift with a tremor until it steadied when both pairs of eyes met. In those brown eyes the gang leader saw no fear, no sadness, but regret. Regret and anger - fury and indignance.

The eyes shut as soon as two gunshots broke the silence, piercing the blond's chest without any resistance.

"I have respect for you, but in the end, if you're not with us, you're against us. May the Brothers give you peace in hell, Atlesian scum."

The Ghost was given enough time to see the pistol loom over his face, and he closed his eyes. One last shot was all it took to snuff the life out of the Ghost of Walkerway, his head recoiling from the shot, and all life leaving him.

The Ghost of Walkerway was dead.

And the gang leader had a scroll call to answer.

But before the scroll came his men, his eyes bringing them into view. They stood in a semi-circle around him, his two Aura using proteges staring at him with a blank expression, but beneath the silence he could feel their regret.

One regretted her inability to trounce an untrained murderer, and the other crossed his arms in frustration at losing the chance to fight, but both in the end had followed the plan, and for that they would get their praise. A nod of acknowledgement was all they needed for the moment, so his gaze scanned over the remaining men.

Some were surrounding him, some were accompanying the injured, and others were glancing between him and the scene with pain they thought they could hide in their eyes. They couldn't, the silence was telling.

"Pack up, we're going home. Remember to give me the names of those who fell, standard procedure."

Without a single word, the men scattered, and the female Aura user grabbed the Dust canister off the ground. His other protege made to facilitate his men's movements, and it was then he knew it was time to answer the call.

"Speak," the gang leader said as he made to walk away, but he paused when he heard the sound of a shutter. Two flashes came and he realized it was his protege taking pictures of the Ghost's corpse.

"Boss, we have visitors. Ravager representatives."

The words alarmed him, but there was no sound of fighting or a scuffle in the background. His subordinate continued, and he couldn't help but raise his brows.

"Bearing gifts? Them?"

He rolled and unrolled the chain around his arm while the man recounted the situation, then he fastened it and began walking toward one of the vans hidden in a private garage nearby.

His men were not too far behind, and they were quickly on their way, two vans and two semi-trucks in line. Not all were heading to the same place, however, as they halved not too long after they moved, and it was soon the two vans that reached the base.

The men spoke no words on the way, but it felt no different from before they ambushed the masked blond. Some sat somberly, some sat excitedly, but they all knew to respect the moment.

Once they had taken a turn, two cars came into view, and that painted a picture unlike the one he had in mind. The cars were luxurious, their frames enhanced and upgraded to withstand combat, yet the paint was still as shiny as a brand new vehicle's. He stepped out to the sight of a group of men facing a group of his own, most definitely the Ravager's entourage being held outside, but not the representatives.

He didn't need to acknowledge the entourage, but his men slightly relaxed at his appearance, a nod was all they needed to know that they were acting as they should, and he entered the building without fanfare.

The subordinate who had called him was standing with worry clear on his face, but he brightened up as soon as the gang leader entered his view. "Thank Oum," he mumbled, then cleared his throat.

"We've catered for them as best as we could, but.."

Silence was ordered and the gang leader walked up the stairs. Within a minute he was in front of a door, and no sound could be heard from behind. The light was turned on, however, and that was as much as he needed before the door was opened, and inside he saw three men - his second in command, and the representative with someone who was no doubt a bodyguard.

"Ah, the leader of Fate, pleased to meet you," the representative stood up, but not before the bodyguard and his second in command did. A hand was extended, and the gang leader took it.

There was no contest for strength or dominance, neither of them needed it, and both of them knew why. The gang leader smiled, "Didn't expect the Ravagers to get in contact with us, but it's a pleasant surprise nonetheless."

The gang leader glanced at the bodyguard, but what reflected in his eyes made him shiver. A darkness unbound, a cold stillness, and a fire. Power exuded from him, and that was enough for him to confirm that this was no doubt a convoy from the Ravagers proper.

"Let us sit," the gang leader motioned, then rested next to his companion who was no less silent than the bodyguard, but worry endlessly filled his gaze. It was hidden beneath layers upon layers of confidence and masks, but it was no harder for the gang leader to read, not for him.

With all four participants seated, words remained to be spoken. The attendants were not expected to contribute, but the leader of the gang Fate and the Ravagers' representative simply stared into each other's eyes, seemingly lost within their depths.

Sweat ran down the gang leader's face in spite of the air conditioner, his face blank and his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses, but the representative held an ever present smirk, one that spoke of their current situation more than words ever could.

Silence remained for minutes, the three lukewarm tea cups most assuredly cold and undrinkable, but neither budged, whereas instead the representative leaned back, his legs crossing.

Two soft knocks broke the silence, each man giving a side eye to the door until the gang leader's second in command allowed the interruption. A man, visibly distraught, brought a tray holding four ceramic cups and a teapot.

A hand was held in silence as soon as the man turned to pour from the teapot, and he quickly excused himself after recovering the tray holding the cold tea. A glint escaped the representative's eye, and the gang leader slowly began pouring the tea, Ravagers-side first.

As soon as the teapot was back on the tray, the spokesperson started, "As you've no doubt heard, we've expanded recently, and we couldn't help but notice how you and your gang operate."

Humming, the gang leader clasped both hands together, the chains ringing, "I'm flattered, but there should be no reason for men of your power to bother with us, not when we're so far apart."

"Let's not kid ourselves, both of us have been longing for a certain portion of Vacuo, and it came to us on a silver platter, would you not say so?"

Silence was the gang leader's answer, and that had the representative chuckle, "Chains, Chains.." he clicked his tongue. "SW 37E, does this ring a bell? You were there before we called for you, no?"

"I was there to take care of some business, yes."

"Would you happen to know the Ghost of Walkerway? Presumed to be an Atlesian, white mask-"

"Dead."

"..Sorry?"

"He's dead."

The representative openly raised a brow before shrugging, "Oh, well, then this makes it easier for the both of us."

Taking a moment to recover, the gang leader considered what the man was going to say. More likely than not, he was going to talk about how the Ghost was rampaging around, breaking things not his, and the Ravagers were no doubt majorly dissatisfied when he unabashedly assaulted their expansion not once but twice - two nights in a row.

"See, I like you, the Ravagers like you and your gang, and we have a proposition."

A metal case was placed on the table. It was blank and coated with no labels, its size no bigger than a pack of cigarettes. It took him two seconds to recognize what the man was offering him, and he broke his mask for the first time since the start of this conversation, a sight that no doubt had the representative chuckle.

"You and I know what's inside. Consider this a gift, free of charge, so let's talk business."

Licking his lips, the gang leader stared the representative in the eye, and the two understood that all pretenses were off. The Ravagers had a deal that he couldn't reject, and they knew it. Silence gave way to sound. Sound of words, of dialogue, of relentless negotiation, and a reckless rattling of his chain.

Both of them were chained to their sides of the discussion. Both of them tugged, but neither bore his weight unreasonably. For a transaction to happen, for both of them to reach a conclusion, both had to eke out the absolute best, and the lowest minimum the other would allow.

But in the end, he was no Ghost of Walkerway. He was no man chained to the status quo. He wasn't chained to a seat of arrogance with expectation that his reign of terror would remain unending.

It was telling enough that that seat turned into a grave, and that made him inwardly smile.

People were chained to their natures, their families, their homes. He was no different - the chains were clasped tight around him, and his gang felt them too. But more than that, he was chained to his future, to prosperity and power, but one had to be smart about it, to be flexible.

And in the end, those chained to the top would reign in silence. A silence that echoed throughout the entirety of Remnant, striking fear without a sound. The ringing of his weapon would inspire terror and respect, not just among his men, but the whole world.

Even if he became a part of the Ravagers. Even if his gang lost its name. Even if he was no longer a gang leader, but a subordinate instead. Even after all of that, he knew what he had to do.

His gang, then the Ravagers were only a step out of many, and by the end, his silence would speak for him.

With a glint under the sunglasses, their hands shook-

And their fates were sealed.