YO! So, I don't wanna slide into the 'barely updating' phase, so I pushed myself to write this. It's not overly long, but it's something.
The Cargo Bay, Northside, Watson
12:25 2nd May 2090
The Cargo Bay was where ambition clashed against desperation and despair. Where the hum of container cranes blended with the ever-present growl of transport trucks. It was the industrial heart of Watson, where everything was in motion – ships unloading, drones flitting like insects, and workers hauling cargo under the gaze of fluorescent floodlights and Konpeki Plaza. The air was thick with a cocktail of salt, grease, and burnt rubber, and the sun, pale and reluctant, fought to pierce through the haze that clung to the city like a second skin.
Robbie Barrett stepped out of his car, the engine's purr cutting off abruptly as the door slammed shut. He adjusted his jacket as he scanned the sprawling expanse of the bay – a finely-tuned chaos. Vendors flogged their wares: salvage and scrap and scop, and pulled their thick coats closer around their shoulders. There weren't exactly 'shops' or 'stores' here – and no-one traded with a license. Back in the day, fights used to break out pretty quickly. They were dealt with quickly too – 'Saka didn't appreciate any troublemakers so close to their industrial district. Robbie, Dwayne, and the Syndicate had put a stop to that, however. For a slither of profit, a heads-up on a rumour, or maybe even just lending a hand on a job, no-one bothered the vendors unless they were buying.
His boots crunching against the concrete pitted by decades of wear. Overhead, a crane hoisted a massive container painted in the faded colours of some forgotten corporation, its cables groaning under the weight.
Two NCPD officers, Ford and Harris, stood near the entrance to the bay's restricted zone, their blue uniforms dulled by the grime of a day in Northside. They straightened as Robbie approached, but not too much. They weren't here to stop him.
"Afternoon, boys," Robbie said as his black eyes turned bright red for a moment. He got an alert on his scanner: of 400 eurodollars being paid out from his account. The eyes of the badges both turned a cold, electric blue as the sum registered with a soft beep.
"Much appreciated, Robbie," the officer said, his tone a little warmer. His partner nodded in agreement, stepping aside to let Robbie pass.
Inside, the din of activity softened to a dull roar, the towering stacks of containers acting as a buffer against the outside world. Robbie's route winded through narrow corridors of steel that smelled faintly of rust and oil. His eyes flicked to the occasional worker who caught sight of him and quickly looked away, their focus snapping back to their tasks. He lit up a cigarette to cover the taste of bleach as he passed the container with the bull's eye graffitied on the doors.
He reached a large, unmarked door set into the side of a storage facility. A battered keypad flashed red until Robbie tapped a code, the light switching to green with a faint chime. The door slid open, revealing his retreat from the chaos outside.
It wasn't exactly a bar, though drinks were available. It wasn't an office either, despite the desk pushed against one wall and the scattered holoscreens displaying live feeds of the bay. It was a hybrid space – more of a private enclave for dealmaking and settling disputes. Dim lights cast long shadows across the room, and the faint hum of an air purifier struggled to mask the industrial odour seeping in from outside. A small counter stocked with whisky, rum, and gin bottles gleamed in the corner, catching the muted light.
Robbie stepped inside, letting the door slide shut behind him. A young woman stood near the centre of the room, her stance casual but her eyes alert. She wore cargo pants and a cropped jacket with the new, dagger-shaped emblem of the Syndicate on her sleeve, but her old gang insignia was still flying proudly: the flaming cog that had been known around Watson as the PyroMechanics. Her name was Lea – she'd grown up in basement off Ross St. She glanced up from the agent she'd been scrolling on stepped forwards, glancing over to the private room at the back.
"Hey, Rob, erm…" Lea lowered her voice and looked back to him, tucking a strand of her bright orange hair behind her ear. "Jess is here."
Robbie paused, his fingers brushing the edge of the counter as he considered her words. Jess. He hadn't expected to deal with her today, though he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Jess had a way of showing up unannounced, her timing always inconvenient and her presence always disruptive. Robbie's jaw tightened imperceptibly as he nodded to Lea.
He rubbed his eye as he neared the room. After everything, he hadn't expected to hear from her this quickly. Some part of him thought she might not ever talk to him again. Silence was easier, even if it sat between them like a loaded gun. If she was here now, it was because Dwayne had talked to her. But was it worry for their brother, or something else?
The door was a heavy slab of reinforced steel, scratched and dented from years of rough use. Robbie stood before it, jaw tight, fingers twitching as though debating whether to knock. Instead, he pushed it open.
The room beyond was industrial to its core, utilitarian and harsh. Exposed concrete walls marked by age and neglect, streaked with grime and the occasional faint scorch mark. A dull overhead light buzzed, illuminating mismatched furniture – chairs with scuffed legs, a couch whose cracked faux-leather had split open at the seams. The centrepiece of the room was a glass-topped table, pitted and scratched. A faint tang of air-conditioning did little to aid against the acrid staleness of smoke and spilled booze.
Jess was waiting for him.
She stood against the far wall, arms crossed, as if she were still trying to command the room. For all her slim build and delicate frame, she did have a presence to her. Her silver hair, cropped at her chin, caught the dim light, framing a face as impassive as the metal walls around her. The sharp lines of her jaw and the set of her thin lips told Robbie everything he needed to know: this wasn't going to be a friendly reunion.
Her eyes – black Kiroshi optics, their crimson rings glowing faintly – tracked him as he stepped into the room. Robbie knew better than to flinch, but their unrelenting stare still crawled under his skin. She looked like a spectre, detached and unyielding, framed by the industrial grit of the space.
Her outfit was pure Jess: chaotic but deliberate. A patched bomber jacket hung loose on her shoulders, its fabric frayed and stained. Underneath, a sequined crop top sparkled incongruously, catching the dim light as she shifted of her stance. Torn jeans and battered boots completed the look, their wear and tear not for show but evidence of her lifestyle. The mismatched earrings dangling from her ears – a few plain silver studs on one side, and a garish neon lightning bolt on the other.
Robbie lingered just inside the door, hands in his pockets, shoulders stiff. The silence between them stretched, heavy and suffocating, thick with unspoken history. Neither of them moved, the air charged like a live wire.
Jess broke the stillness, stepping forward. The muted sound of her boots against the floor was sharp and deliberate, each step cutting through the tension. She stopped by the glass table, her gaze never leaving his. Jess's optics glinted in the dim light as she tilted her head slightly, her lips parting just enough to deliver her first words.
"What's this I've been hearing about dealing with Black Lace?"
Robbie exhaled the smoke slowly, his expression carefully neutral. "Afternoon, Jess."
"What's going on?"
He let the silence stretch, the faint curl of smoke rising between them. "It seems you know exactly what's going on."
Her steps were quick and decisive as she closed the distance between them. "Don't start acting up, Rob," she snapped, grabbing his arm and forcing him to meet her gaze. "Why are we talking to Maelstrom about Black Lace?"
"Is it still 'we,' Jess?" He arched a brow, unfazed by the sudden aggression. "You've not turned up to any meetings."
"Last I heard, you didn't need me." The words landed like a challenge, and for a moment, Jess said nothing, her jaw tightening. "You're not dealing with Maelstrom?"
Robbie crossed his arms and cleared his throat, the cigarette dangling from his fingers. "We currently have no business agreements with Maelstrom," he replied, taking a slow puff as his black eyes locked onto hers.
"Answer my question," she pressed, her voice dropping in tone but losing none of its intensity.
Robbie exhaled a cloud of smoke, tilting his head slightly. "Why don't you ask whoever you've been speaking to?"
"I'm asking you."
A bitter chuckle escaped him as he pointed at her with the cigarette. "You want to know because you're bored, Jess. I told you it was a mistake to step away from the business."
"I didn't step away," she shot back, her voice cutting through the tension. "I was pushed."
The pause that followed was heavy, the unspoken history between them roaring louder than any words could.
"We agreed. I'm in charge now. But that doesn't mean you have to step away entirely. Dwayne didn't."
Jess's lips curled into a humourless smile.
"Without me, there wouldn't be a Syndicate, Rob; I was the one who set all this up while you were off gallivanting around Chicago, playing gangster."
"And you didn't start turning a profit until I came back." Robbie turned his gaze back to her, the smirk tugging at his lips not quite reaching his eyes. He pushed the butt of his cigarette into the tin ashtray.
Jess's jaw tightened as she stared at Robbie, her glare sharp but undercut with something softer—something almost pleading.
"You need to talk to Dwayne. He'd never admit it to you, but…" She paused, the words catching in her throat. "He's thinks he's screwing up in front of you."
Robbie leaned back, exhaling through his nose, his expression flat. For a moment, he didn't respond, just let her words hang in the air like the smoke rising from the stub of his cigarette. Then his jaw tensed, the slightest flicker of irritation crossing his face – not at Dwayne, but at Jess.
"Well… if that's how he's going to act…"
Jess took a step forward, her voice rising as she pressed him.
"Aren't you gonna talk to him?"
"About what?" Robbie's tone was cold, clipped.
She raised her hands, exasperated. "Jesus, Rob…"
He frowned, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. "What?"
"Do you not even care about him?" Jess's voice cracked, her frustration and disbelief bleeding through.
"Dwayne is a grown man." Robbie's gaze didn't waver, his black eyes boring into hers. "He doesn't need help from me or you or anyone else, does he?"
Jess blinked, her breath hitching for a split second before she shook her head.
"He's our little brother, Robbie," she said, her tone softer now. "You've been on his case ever since we were kids–"
"Dwayne's not a child." Robbie interrupted, his voice hardening. "I'm not going to treat him like one."
Jess's fists curled at her sides, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "You were always too hard on him."
"And you were always too soft," Robbie shot back without missing a beat, hitting her like a hammer.
Jess took a sharp breath, steadying herself. "Because I didn't want him running around with a gang of cutters? Because I wanted us all to have something better than this?" She gestured sharply at the room around them.
"Exactly." Robbie's voice was calm, almost detached.
The oppressive, heavy silence stretched, before he finally exhaled, blowing away the thin plume of smoke from the ashtray.
"There's a seat at the table for you, Jess," he said, "Just not at the head of it."
Jess's body stiffened, her eyes locking onto his with a mix of disbelief and fury. "What if I don't accept that, Robert?"
Robbie let out a long, slightly exasperated sigh as he glanced away from her to the corner of the ceiling, flicking his tongue across his teeth. He pulled out his carton of cigarettes and took out another, lighting it with deliberate slowness.
He let out a long exhale of smoke, letting it curl upwards as he found her eyes once more.
"Keep a little bit of dignity, yeah?"
The words hit like a slap. Jess's face tightened. She turned toward the door, but something in her wouldn't let her leave without getting the last word – she hadn't changed since they were kids.
"Dwayne's not a cutter, he's our brother. And if you can't see that, then maybe you don't deserve the seat at the head of the table either."
Robbie didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just watched her with that same cold, empty stare.
"Talk to Dwayne," Jess said finally. "And don't fucking deal with Maelstrom."
The door hissed shut behind her, leaving Robbie alone.
For a long moment, he sat in silence, the faint hum of the outdated air conditioning unit the only sound in the room. He stared at the spot where Jess had stood. His lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile.
"Too soft," he muttered to himself, the words barely audible, as the smoke curled upward and disappeared. "Too fucking soft."
Well, there's the chapter! I hope you all enjoy, and I'll be back soon with a Kali chapter. Which I have not planned. So… that may take a hot second. I've also not fully planned out the two chapters after that, but I have, like, three sentences to go off.
Big shout out to LadyLannister01 for cah-ranking out those reviews. You're a goddamn machine, woman!