Syx Chapter 4: One of Us

Red shuffled down the sidewalk, his scruffy, smelly imp facade effectively deflecting attention as he went about his business. He watched as Syx approached the other Kids, who were unwisely boosting a much too fancy car. He glanced across the street and saw a trio of young adult -perhaps older teenaged- Hellborn, a satyr, a reptilian imp, and a tall, white-haired incubus. They had noticed the kids circling about the fancy car, watching them intently. The moment Dew began his work on the lock, they walked up the opposite side of the street, crossing a ways away before making a bee-line for the distracted thieves.

'Here we see a small group of juveniles,' Red thought to himself, donning the accent and cadence of a stodgy, elderly British man. 'Their hunt has been successful, a true bounty they will return to their tribe, earning them the respect and admiration of their peers and betters they so desperately crave. However, their success has garnered them some unwanted attention: a trio of watchful adolescents. It would seem that in their jubilation, they have failed to notice their approach.' His eyes scanned about, finding the sitting, waiting form of Syx, pantomiming a sympathy-begging routine. His smile broadened. 'Luckily for these young pups, a more capable elder has taken up watch. But whether or not he will preempt the interlopers remains to be seen.'

Syx's head cocked slightly, his ophidian tongue slipping out as he tasted the air, slit nostrils flaring as he took in the scent.

'The elder has picked up the scent.' Syx got to his feet and ducked into a nearby alleyway. 'He wastes little time getting into position.'

Red followed after, careful to keep his distance. He shambled forward in an approximation of a drunkard's sway, angling to take up Syx's former squatting spot when two pairs of hands shot out from a dark alley and hauled his smaller frame bodily into the recess, tossing him to the filth and rubbish-strewn blacktop.

'We interrupt this program with a message from our sponsor,' thought Red, irritated. 'A trio of soon-to-be corpses.'

Looming over him was a burly rottweiler hellhound, a tall, muscular imp with the horns and neck of a bull, and a skinny, disheveled-looking draconic creature Red identified as a drake.

'Thank you for the info, Eye Watkins,' he thought to himself. 'Your existence wasn't a complete waste.'

"Heya Macks," sneered the bull-imp, evidently the leader of this motley crew, his septum ring jostling as his lip curled. "How ya doin'?"

"Heh-heh yeh!" Grunted the rottie-hound. "Where y'goin'?"

"Keh-heh-heh!" Gurgled the drake. "How're ya now?"

"Hey…" Red said, belatedly remembering whose shape he was wearing. "...You?"

"Did we not make ourselves clear last time, alkie?" The Bull-Imp growled, hand bunching into a fist. "These streets is off-limits! Our bosses don't want smelly old ringscrapers like you offendin' the customers!"

"Heh-heh!" Chuckled the Rottie, nodding. "Yeah! You, heh, you stink!"

"Pee-yew!" Croaked the drake, pinching his snout. "Bad gas travels fast inna small hood, Macksie-Pad! Smelled ya miles away!"

"Did you, now?" Red said, a disarming smile on his face. "I must have forgotten."

The Bull-Imp seemed to bristle at this. "You forgot that beating we gave ya?!"

"In my defense, I was probably drunk," Red said, shrugging.

"He's gotta point," muttered the hellhound. "Maybe he don't 'member?"

"Ya chin-checked the old chode so hard he spat his chicklets!" The drake replied. "He'd havta been ten sheets inna williwaw to misfile that!"

"Was that an actual sentence or should we call a doctor?" Red said, pointing to the drake.

"Heh-heh-heh!" The hellhound snickered, pointing at the drake as well.

"Wuzzat, rummy?!" The drake snarled. "The old bird's chirpin' a chorus, eh?"

"What I meant was, you talk like it's the side-effect of a stroke." Red held up his hand, three fingers extended. "How many fingers?"

"HAW HAW HAW!" The hellhound guffawed.

"Shaddup!" The drake snarled at the dog, turning back to Red, jabbing a ring-laden finger at him, the fake gold plating staining his scaly skin. "Ya think yer funny, ya whale-shit dipso tippler?!"

"People say I have a puckish sense of feistiness that's irresistible," said Red, getting to his feet. "If that'll be all, I'll beat feet. I have some business to get back to. Good talk, fellas."

The imp snapped his fingers and the hellhound shoved him to the ground.

"Naw. Time for talk is over. We don't give second warnings," said the Bull-Imp, reaching into his ratty leather vest, pulling out the old, dried remains of a cigar. Obviously something he only lit up on special occasions. "Bust out the marshmallows, boys. We's havin' a campfire sing-a-long!"

"Keh-heh-heh!" The drake geckered, pulling a small jerry can of promethleum, the noxious hellfire-infused liquid that ran the engines of Hell. "Whiskey marinade makes fer damn fine Barbies!"

Red rolled his eyes. He had a job to do and this was no longer amusing. Still, he had to play this cool if he was to observe his quarry in his natural habitat.

(~0~)

He slipped into the timeless space between moments, into the realm of Zero, where nothing had happened yet anythingcould. The timestream stretched out before him, the infinite fractal of possibilities, most too similar to be readily distinguished. He selected the largest cluster of similar timelines and pored over them, representing the most likely of outcomes.

He would quickly and unceremoniously butcher the interlopers, stroll out onto the street, and watch the Kids get attacked. The older hellborn -Red estimated their ages to be late-teens, early twenties- made short work of the younger Shop Kids. Dragging them out of the fancy car and dispatching them with single blows before hurling them into nearby rubbish bins. The hellhound, whatever her name was, put up somewhat more of a fight. She kicked her assailants and bit the hand of the satyr, causing him to back off, cursing and clutching his bleeding hand. The imp lad proceeded to swing her into a nearby streetlamp and the incubus joined him in stomping her into submission.

Dew, the oldest of the team, wasted no time wading into battle on behalf of his team-mates. Red nodded approvingly as the boy charged the older, larger hellions, fearless as though the lug-nut wrench in his hand were a Seraphim Steel mace. He caught the incubus across the jaw with a mighty swing, sharp teeth issuing from the man's mouth in a bloody fan, causing him to collapse against the side of the car. Dew brought the wrench down again, connecting with the incubus' skull with a satisfying impact, before moving on to the imp. Unfortunately for Dew the imp was faster, hand snapping out and grabbing his wrist before throwing him hard into the car. This gave the satyr time to rush in and plant an uppercut into the boy's ribs, winding him. From there the two standing attackers set upon Dew with outraged ferocity. But Dew did not fall, staying on his feet despite the savage beating, all the while attempting to fight back.

Red smirked. The boy was strong, perhaps enough to be the next candidate after Syx.

Speak of the devil.

Syx came next, bursting out of the adjoining alleyway from on high, in his hand some manner of baton. From the sound it made smashing into the back of the satyr's skull, Red guessed it was composed of solid steel. The satyr folded like a lawnchair, dazed. Wasting no time, Syx hooked his tail around the ankle of the imp attacker and yanked with a full-hip outward swing. Red noted that there were significant gaps in the boy's senses, as he failed to notice the rallying incubus sweeping up behind him. Still, his performance despite his disability was commendable.

Predictably, the older incubus swooped in behind before Syx could set upon his felled colleague with the cudgel. Syx was then swiftly disarmed and hauled off his feet. The imp attacker leapt to his feet and set about pummeling the helpless blind boy as the incubus hissed sour nothings into his ear. A casual observer might have confused Syx's lack of struggle as him giving up, but Red could see the slow, thoughtful manner in which Syx's long tail patted about on the ground, adroitly scooping up the dropped baton. The older imp appeared to lose steam, his knuckles bruised and split from careless, rage-filled blows. This gave Syx the opening he needed, tossing the steel cylinder into his hand. Syx canted his head off to the side, exposing the incubus' face, and held up the baton. Red blinked in surprise as the baton, now very clearly not just a baton, extended in a surge of white gas, now a tapered cane over a meter long. The dense narrow end impacted the imp attacker in the center of his face, staving it in like a beer can, and with a not dissimilar sound.

'Must have gotten that from the satyr girl back in the Shop,' Red surmised. 'Impressive gadgetry. I'll have to look into her.'

The incubus took the broader, hollow handle of the cane to the schnoz, causing his head to snap backwards with a squirt of blood. Syx freed himself as the larger boy collapsed against the side of the car. He casually plucked the cane out of the air and swung it like a homerun batter.

'Pinch hitting for Pedro Borbon…' Red thought, smirking. 'Manny Mota… Mota… Mota…'

And right into the unguarded side of the satyr who was shakily getting to his feet.

'And it's good!'

The young man made an amusing honking sound and crumpled to the ground, clutching his side. With that, Syx collapsed the cane back into a solid, heavy baton and turned to the defeated incubus, raising it over his head to deliver the killing blow. He waited, no doubt savoring his home run.

And waited.

…And waited.

Seconds had passed now.

What was he doing? He had an enemy at his mercy! Why wasn't he painting that garish hotrod a lovely shade of brain?!

'Hesitating…' Red thought, incredulity giving way to bitter disappointment. 'He's hesitating! At the cusp of total victory, Syx is hesitating?! No. No, no this won't do. Weak. For all his skill, he's weak! And I had such high hopes for him, too! I can't have my inner circle peopled by those too timid to land the killing blow! A dead end. I'll have to find another. Spend another day under her thrall!'

(~0̷~)

Red exited the realm of Zero in a foul mood. Teeth gritting, hands clenched. He desperately wanted to mutilate something. The Bull-Imp ignited the lighter and lit the cigar stump, gesturing for the jerrycan-toting drake to proceed.

Perfect.

"Hey…" muttered the Rottweiler Hellhound, pointing. "Was his eyes always gr-?"

The drake cackled and raised the can of fuel over his head, looming over the scowling, sitting 'imp'. A huge open hand swung out in a horizontal slash, instantly severing the drake's arms and head. The jerry-can, still grasped by the severed arms, began its downward tumble before being plucked out of the air.

"…r-r-r-r-e-e-e…" the Rottie droned, head beginning to turn towards the sudden source of movement in his peripherals, rheumy eyes shutting slowly as he blinked. "…e-e-e-e-n-n-n?"

A hand set down on his bulging, muscular shoulder, and gave a hard shove. The shockwave of the push rippled out across the oaf's entire body, twisting and contorting it in a gelatinous fashion as he was lifted off his feet. He didn't so much hit the brick wall on the far side of the alley as he splattered, not unlike a waterballoon filled with blood and offal.

"W-h-u-u-u-" Bull-Imp lowed as Red strode forward, cigar tip glowing dull orange with his inhale before being plucked from his lips.

A shiny black dress shoe impacted the imp's leg just above the knee. The narrow, caprine limb bent forward and curled upwards with the shock, the back of his thigh burst out in a spray of black filth.

"GAAAH!" Bull-Imp bellowed, skidding backwards on the pavement, his hands shooting down to the ruined limb. "What the-?! How…?"

He looked around at the butchered remains of his companions, eyes yellow saucers with narrow ruby pupils. He looked, and up, and up at the powerfully built Sinner towering over him, his eyes glowing pits of green in his fury-darkened face. In his one hand was the jerry-can, in the other the smoldering cigar butt. Red upended the can and plunged the narrow spout into the imp's guts, the liquid inside gurgling as it drained into his stomach and chest cavity. His screams rang out, shrill with horror and fragrant with fuel vapor.

"You know, you should really cut back," rumbled Red, examining the lit cigar, blowing on it to bring a fresh glow to the marble-sized ember. "These things'll kill you."

He reached down and stuffed the cigar into the imp's open mouth and clamped his jaws shut. The fuel lit with a muted 'whump' as flame and smoke burst from his mouth, nose, and eyes in roaring torrents of green, his screams now the bellow of the inferno as fire raged within him. Red stood up as the thrashing body blazed, eyes glaring through a dark pillar of greasy black smoke.

He didn't feel any better.


Dew groaned as he was thrown to the concrete, next to a barely conscious Paq. He glowered up at the Sinner as he(?) dropped the terrified young kids next to them in a pile. He–she?–They were a slender demon that resembled some manner of stick insect in a suit, with four overly long arms sprouting out of a ludicrously narrow body. Despite their willowy build, Dew knew better than to try his luck here. Syx had effectively thrashed the three older boys, older and stronger hellborn. One of them was even a former 'Donna kid named Zak! Zak used to do what Syx did. There were still kids who'd speak of him in low, reverent tones at the 'Donna, recalling how nice and generous he had been. Dew recalled liking him well enough, but he remembered seeing the fear in the slick, charming boy's eyes the day he aged out. The terror and uncertainty.

It left a sour taste in his mouth.

Syx was different. Syx wasn't charming or friendly, he didn't hide his fear behind a smile or mask his doubts with a laugh. He didn't have any fear or doubts. He kept the kids safe, from the world and from each other. Syx was strong, stolid, fearless. But even he was helpless against these gangsters. Sinners, and worse, Sinner gangsters, replete with weird abilities and the demonic essence to power them accumulated from countless deals and duels. Syx was the toughest kid at the 'Donna, no one doubted that, but he was just another sniveling ringscraper pup to these faller bastards.

"Can we keep him, Boss?" The huge, rock-pile demon said, chuckling at Syx's spirited but futile resistance. "I'll feed and walk him every day! Promise!"

"Looks like he broke one of ours," said the androgynous stick-demon, jostling the limp imp on the ground with their high-heeled boot. "Seems only fair."

"Fair would be skinning the lot of them and selling the leather." Growled the gangster's Boss, a powerfully built female lizard demon in what looked to be a zoot suit made of red kevlar and orange ballistic plastic, glaring out from under a wide-brim feathered hat. "Little shits scratched the paint on my Viper!"

"Aw, that'll buff right out, Boss!"

"Zak, you were supposed to be watching my wheels." The Boss zipped over to a kneeling Zak, hauling him off the ground by the neck before throwing him back down. "What gives?"

"Th-they're 'Donna kids, Boss!" Zak coughed, cowering. "They were gonna take your ride and strip it down! We stopped 'em! P-please…"

Dew turned to see Zak groveling on the ground before their Boss. It'd been about two years ago now that Zak had aged out. Back then, he was the 'Donna's collective big brother. Caring, confident, the big man on campus. Now groveling, beaten, defeated. What had happened to him? Dew had allowed himself little time to consider what awaited him after the 'Donna. Day to day survival of him and his little sister, Ena, was his primary concern. Keeping that oblivious little bitch safe was a full-time job in and of itself. Zak had been a grifter, a pickpocket, and a thief, like Syx. Dew always told himself he was developing skills in the Shop that would keep him and Ena fed and sheltered when they aged out since everyone had cars and he could keep even a Fiat running in his sleep. He'd just tell himself that things would work out, that he'd make it work.

"Polka, get your knives," said the Boss, cold malice dripping from her reptilian jaws like venom. "We're skinning these little shits."

Dew blinked in surprise and horror as the stick-insect -Polka, apparently- opened their coat to reveal a small butcher's shop of glittering steel. Zak and his satyr friend tried to get up, only for the Boss to kick them back down, her long whip-like tail sweeping them into the pile with the 'Donna kids.

"All of 'em."

Zak and his cohort began their feeble protestations but the Sinners weren't listening, engaging in a minor argument over the removal of their own assets. Dew felt his blood run cold. Could he die here? What would happen to Ena? What would Boss Lady do with her? Boss Lady had very little imagination when it came to the roles Lustringers were expected to play in her organizations. Dew himself had only avoided such a fate through his, admittedly, quick temper and gift with machinery.

But Ena?

Ena was a cheerful, peppy kid. Kind and agreeable. And cute in a way that guaranteed beauty later. At 8 years old she was considered too young for Boss Lady's designs, thankfully. Not that Boss Lady had anything resembling scruples, only that such work was demanding and starting too young tended to lead to burn-out. But what about later? How long before his innocent little sister grew enough to catch that hateful old bitch's eye? And without him around to protect her…

Even thinking about it made him feel sick. A familiar black rage built in him, always bubbling just below the point of boiling over, now frothing. It filled his veins like tar, hot and heavy, filling him with an almost uncontrollable urge to launch himself at the Sinners, to… to do something! Anything! He couldn't die here! He grit his teeth, heartbeat thumping in his ears as veins stood proud. The stench of burning wires filled his nostrils.

Wait.

What?

That never happened before. Did his anger stink now?

"You'll do no such thing," said a deep, masculine voice.

All heads turned to the source: it was Mr. Red.

Dew never spared much thought about the morons and deviants Boss Lady hired. They came in three flavors, either too weak or cowardly to hack it against their fellow Sinners, too stupid to do anything but bully children, and… those other ones. The cruel ones.

Red was… none of those. As far as he could tell, anyway. He, like the other kids, had developed a nose for discerning the exact motives of the dipshits that wound up working for a sow like Belladonna. Red was well-dressed, with a fancy black three-piece suit and blood-red tie, the kind of suit that suggested money and power, which didn't make sense since if he had either, he wouldn't be working there. He carried himself like a big-shot, cool, confident, suave, which, again, made him stick out like a turd in a swimming pool among the craven, wallowing scum that constituted the rest of the 'Donna's staff. Worst of all, he actually seemed like a decent person. He didn't yell or swear or threaten, he didn't beat the kids or worse. He even got the kids under his watch stuff like pizza, soda, and sweets. Such luxuries were rare to 'Donna Kids, much less coming from one of the staff.

Dew didn't like him. Or, rather, didn't trust him. Not that he really trusted anyone but his sister, but he doubly didn't trust Red. When it came to most people, trust only meant he could be reasonably certain of their motives, what they wanted and would do to get it. Nothing about Red made any sense and yet here he was. He was up to something, something bad enough that he saw it necessary to pretend to be nice to a bunch of ringscraper grubs.

That said, he was gaining a reputation for smearing staffers like Eye Watkins and Strokes like the piles of wet shit that they were. That was pretty cool. Dew could at least admire that about him.

"You," said Red, gesturing dismissively at the hulking rock-demon holding Syx. "Bargain Bin Ben Grimm. Put that one down and step away."

'Ben Grimm' turned to his Boss. "Boss?"

"Lalo, hang onto the brat! You! Who the fuck're you?!" Boss growled, her taloned hands balling into fists. "These your ringscrapers?"

"My name is Red Nightmare, I am the negotiator for Lady Belladonna's Institute for the Enrichment and Education of Dispossessed Hellborn Children," he said, his tone amicable, as though handing off a business card. "You seem to be menacing a few of my wards. I'd appreciate it if you stopped."

Boss turned to Polka, who shrugged, and then to Lalo, and then back to Red. "Oh, would you, now?"

"I would, yes." Red nodded, gesturing again, more directly, at Lalo. "Anytime you feel like it, big guy."

"These little shits were trying to swipe our Boss' ride!" Polka hissed, jabbing a talon at Dew.

Red chuckled and shrugged. "Precocious little scamps, aren't they?"

"So, you're the Cow's new hire, huh?" Boss said, crossing her arms across her broad chest. "I heard she was expanding her operation. Well, 'negotiator', why don't you run back to the farm and tell your boss that she's stepping on Greebles turf! We run the chop shop racket around here!"

"Not anymore." Red turned to Lalo, his expression, though still a smile, was a lot less friendly now. "Put him down. Step away."

Lalo almost did, but was stopped by a hissing growl from his Boss. "The fuck did you just say? Not anymore?!"

"Yes. I'm opening negotiations now, Greebles." Red said, holding out one hand as though to display something. "My terms are you will not hamper our operations in any way. You will also shutter your chop shop businesses or agree to pay a monthly stipend starting at 25% of total profits."

Greebles scoffed and shook her head, incredulous. "Oh, will we?"

"You will."

"And if we don't?"

"You will."

"Well, shit, Shamu! I can see why she made you her negotiator! Great job!" Greebles threw her head back and cackled, turning to her wary henchmen before going back to Red. "Alright then, Red. How's this sound? When you see your boss next, you tell her, from me: fuck Belladonna. Fuck the barnyard twat she fell out of. Fuck them kids. Fuck your face. Yeah? You like that? And fuck the whole fucking orphanage while you're at it. Y'get all that, bud?"

Red's smile widened. "I see that negotiations have hit a snag."

"You could say that," she said, reaching under her suit jacket and producing a pair of Seraphim Steel butterfly swords. "You won't mind if we make a counter proposal?"

"Not at all."

Greebles glanced over her shoulder at her henchmen, hissing: "What're you waiting for, a written invitation?! Pull out your pieces!"

"I dunno, Boss…" Lalo muttered, not taking his eyes off Red. "This guy gives me the jibblies."

"Yeah!" Exclaimed Polka. "He is way too nonchalant about this situation!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake! He's just some–ERK!"

Greebles was yanked off her feet, Red's pale fist wrapped around her ankle. He effortlessly swung the Sinner high over his head and, with a modicum of exertion, swung her back down to the concrete. The sidewalk cracked and buckled, cratering down to the fill underneath. Greebles' head and torso burst with a crunching pop, limbs and flesh and rank green chunks splashing all around. The blood-splattered henchmen recoiled, gasping in shock.

Dew flinched as a hot rope of blood streaked across his face. He reached up and touched it, rubbing the thick, sickly green stuff between his fingers. He felt his gorge rise as the smell hit him. Do all Sinners stink like rotten fish and old motor oil on the inside?!

"Now," Red said, Greebles' disembodied lower leg still clutched in his grasp. "Rocky, drop the kid."

Lalo gently set Syx back down on the ground, ineptly trying to straighten out his coat and dust him off before backing off.

Red tossed the leg onto the twitching pile that used to be Greebles. "Well, I'm glad we've reached an understanding. Now, gather up your boss and head back to your hideout. I expect a letter of acceptance of my terms as soon as she pulls herself back together. Oh, and one more thing…" Red flashed over to Polka, looming over them, his hand now encased in a glittering Seraphim Steel gauntlet. "Next time, no kid's gloves."

He reached up and scraped a long, angelic talon across the trembling demon's cheek, causing them to squeak and wince as he drew a long, smoking gash in their flesh.

"Understood?"

Polka nodded fervently, rushing over to Lalo as he scooped up the ragged remains of their boss. That done, the Sinners beat a hasty retreat.

Red turned around and faced the kids, his expression flat, lips pulled into a thin line. He made his way over to them, stopping in front of Syx for the briefest of moments, his lip curling. He brushed by the somewhat flummoxed-looking imp and marched over to Dew. He towered over him, green eyes staring down from on high, cold and distant as stars.

"Dew," he said, his tone firm. "What have we learned today?"

Dew felt himself firm up. Any time any of these assholes tried the ol 'stern schoolmaster' bit with him, he felt the urge to spit in their faces, an urge he often indulged. But not this time, not with this guy. Instead he stood up straight and met his gaze. "Don't get too fancy."

Red nodded. "And?"

Dew hissed a sigh. "And have a good lookout… Paq shoulda been the lookout."

Paq was leaning up against the Viper, eyes still distant but flashed a bit at the sound of her name, expression dazed. "Huhn?"

"Very good." Red leaned over and held out a lighter, flicking it on. "Don't move your eyes, please."

Dew didn't as he waved the lighter in front of one, and then the other. With an affirming hum, Red stood back up straight. "No concussion. You feel good to drive?"

"Yeah, I can drive."

"Good." Red held out his hand, the keys to the car in his palm. "Go on, then. You've still a job to do."

Dew took the keys and looked back up at Red, surprised to see his eyes glinting with something like warmth, a smirk pulling at the sides of his mouth. Dew nodded, he almost felt like smiling himself. "C'mon guys! Load up, we're rolling out!"

The other kids groaned, shakily getting to their feet as they willed their sore bodies to work. They unenthusiastically clambered into the Viper and buckled up.

"I think I got summa that lady on me…" Tolly grumbled.

Dew took the front seat as Rolf took to the space underneath the wheel, manually operating the brake, gas, and clutch. The Viper roared to life, purring like a happy Greed Lion. Dew adjusted the mirrors and put the hot rod into gear, rolling out of the parking space.

Dew glanced out the rearview mirror as they pulled away. Red was looming over Syx, who, strangely, looked contrite. Ashamed. He still didn't trust this new guy, but was interested regardless. "Hit it, Rolf!"

Tires squealed as the engine revved and Viper roared down the road.


Syx stood at attention as Red strode over to him. His heart thudded in his chest; he had failed.

"Syx," said Red, his tone cold and low.

"Klk."

"You hesitated." He said the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Syx's hands balled into fists. "Klk."

"You hesitated and the Greebles got the drop on you," he continued. "You all would have been killed had I not been here."

Shame and rage surged through him. While it was literally Red's job to 'be there', Syx knew he was right. If he'd just finished the fight, he would have been able to detect the Greebles and gotten the kids to scatter. Some of them might have gotten caught anyway, but most would have gotten away. But instead he was off in la-la-land and almost gotten them all killed or worse. He had failed. Red had seen him fail. After all he'd been puffed up as 'the guy' of the 'Donna. Wounded pride and shame were bad enough, but the cold distance in Red's voice were like daggers; disappointment.

"Toba?" A voice said to their side, it didn't sound familiar, so Syx assumed it was Zak's satyr friend. "Zak! I-it's Toba, he's chokin' or somethin'!"

Syx felt Red step away from him, moving towards the dispossessed hellborn. He was pulled from his bitter self-repudiations as a sudden surge of panic streaked through him.

Toba gurgled and gasped, a deep, ocean-like sound rumbling in his chest. Zak was shaking him, his voice desperate. "Toba! C'mon, man! Cough it up!"

"Don't worry. That's just the blood from his shattered sinuses congealing in the back of his throat. Roll him on his side and he should be able to cough it out." He heard Red say as he stood over the trio. "But I wouldn't worry about that if I were you. In fact, it's the least of your concerns right now."

Syx's body moved on its own, calculating where Red was standing, guessing his posture, and leaping towards him. His battered body screamed and protested as he pulled into a roll and streaked between Red's legs. He got to his feet in an instant, putting himself firmly between Zak and the Sinner. He felt a gust of air kiss his cheek, Red had stopped mid-swing, a huge, powerful hand hanging in the air just inches from his head.

"Syx." Red rumbled. "Move."

"Klk-klk."

Silence. Syx could feel Red's glare on him, those eyes, formerly full of disappointment, were now no doubt filled with anger, outrage. How dare this pitiful thing defy him? It dawned on Syx just what a bad idea this had been. He'd disappointed Red, let him down, and now he was defying him. What use could he have for a blind, incompetent, disobedient ringscraper? Boss Lady might protest, but if she was content with Red grinding her staffers into paste, what was another imp on the pile? And for what? Why was he even doing this?!

"Explain."

Syx blinked his sightless eyes, not sure if he heard what he heard.

"I said: explain." Red reiterated, his tone curious. "Why risk yourself? Why save these three?"

Three? He could give two shits about the other two. "Klk-klk."

"No?" Another pause as Red pondered. "Not three?"

"Klk." He pointed to Zak, who was doing his best to be as quiet and as still as possible.

"Who is he to you?" Another pause as Syx hesitated, stymied. "Sign it out. Slowly."

Syx cocked his head, confused. Since when could this guy sign? Still, he did so, carefully showing the characters. When he finished, he stood straight, useless eyes looking up, through his teashades, as though he could meet his gaze. For a long time, Red said nothing.

"You," he addressed Zak. "Get up. You're coming back with us."

"What?" Zak muttered. "Me? I–"

"Shut up." Red said in that curious fashion that was slowly becoming his hallmark: he wasn't giving an order, a command, rather he was stating a fact and it would be so. "Both of you, follow me."

"Th-thank you…" Zak muttered, relief clear in his voice.

"Don't thank me yet. I have some questions to ask you." Red turned to Zak's 'friends', the satyr had since rolled Toba onto his side, clearing his airway in a series of ragged coughs. "You two. Your masters have discarded you. That means you work for me, now. From now on, if you see one of our teams on the streets, you shadow them and protect them, understood?"

"Y-yessir."

"Yeds sur," Toba slurred.

"Ugh. If pugs could talk," said Red, disgusted. "One moment."

A round of confused and alarmed exclamations ensued, followed immediately by the muted crunch of various bony fragments being unceremoniously pulled back into place. Toba yowled in pain, the sound of thick, coagulated liquids pattered on the sidewalk.

"Keep your fingers out of there and it should heal up nicely," Red said, airily. "Now, shoo-shoo! Syx, other person, with me."

"My name is Zak, Mr. Nightmare, sir."

"I don't recall asking."

With that, he set off down the street, Syx and Zak following shortly after. The pedestrians, who had been patiently waiting for the gang 'fight' to die down, filed past, giving the Sinner and his two wards a wide berth. Zak cleared his throat, getting Syx's attention.

"Hey," said Zak. "Who is this guy?"

"New hire at the 'Donna," Syx signed, Zak having been one of the few to bother to learn it for his benefit. "He's the second in command over there."

"What's he gonna do to me?"

"Ask questions, like he said."

"Is he going to kill me?"

"I don't know," Syx gestured, pointing at him. "Is he?"

"I'll try to not give him a reason to."

"You always were a smart guy, Zak. Syx paused, sensing the older boy's apprehension. "If he was going to kill you, he would have just now."

"Right…" Zak sighed, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Thanks for saving me back there. What did you tell him?"

Syx concentrated on the figure in front of them, the sound of his footsteps, the rhythm of his stride. "I told him you're one of us."