Useful for now.

Meanwhile at the center of Bone lake city....

Dallion "Black Death" Cross strode through the bustling streets of Bone lake, a place known for its shady deals and underworld connections. The sound of chatter, clinking coins, and distant laughter mixed with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and burning cigars. It was a maze of alleys and crooked streets, a place where power wasn’t just bought with money, but with blood and favors.

As his black leather shoes clicked on the cobblestones, men and women quickly moved out of his way, lowering their gazes in a mixture of fear and respect. Mr Cross was no ordinary man. In fact, in the dark underbelly of the city, he was considered more of a myth than flesh and blood. The Black Death wasn’t just a nickname; it was a title he'd earned through merciless violence, swift executions, and a reputation that left most either shaking or dead. He wore a tailored black suit, his muscular frame exuding control and dominance.

Trailing behind him was his newest recruit, a lean, eager-to-please man named Victor. He had been trying to keep up with Mr Cross's brisk pace but was always a step too slow, physically and mentally. Mr Cross didn’t care to speak to him, but he tolerated Victor for one simple reason—he was useful. For now.

“This place smells like piss and desperation,” Victor muttered under his breath, earning a side glance from Mr Cross, who remained silent, his piercing dark eyes scanning the chaos around them.

"Do you always have to talk?" Mr Cross’s voice was low, commanding, and laced with a quiet, deadly threat. Victor quickly shut his mouth.

The two of them made their way through the sea of people, passing through makeshift stalls filled with everything from counterfeit designer clothes to stolen firearms and drugs. This wasn’t just the black market; it was the heart of Bone lake, a place where the legal world didn’t dare step foot.

They finally arrived at their destination—a rundown speakeasy on the corner of an alley where the real deals were made. This wasn’t a place for amateurs. The patrons inside were the elite of the criminal underworld, where people like Mr Cross ruled. The doors were guarded by a man as big as a mountain, tattoos covering every inch of his visible skin. He nodded respectfully at Mr Cross, allowing him and Victor entry without a word.

Inside, the air was thick with cigar smoke and the hum of low conversations. Mr Cross made his way to a secluded corner where an old acquaintance sat— “Red” . She was known for her connections in the narcotics trade, but today, Mr Cross had business with her for something more lethal—tranquilizers.

"Dallion," Red greeted with a sly smile, her scarlet lips parting to reveal sharp, white teeth. Her red dress hugged her voluptuous figure, and her emerald eyes sparkled with malice. “Long time no see.”

Mr Cross didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He slid into the booth across from her, Victor awkwardly standing behind him. “I’m not here for small talk, Alisa Mont. That was the real name of the woman. I need the tranquilizers you’ve been peddling. Now.”

She arched a brow, leaning back in her seat as if pondering how much she wanted to play with him. “Straight to business as always, huh? Well, I have one left, Dallion. You’re late. Supply’s low these days. Everyone’s scrambling for it.”

“Who did you sell the others to?” Mr Cross asked, his tone even, though the danger in his voice was palpable.

Red's smile didn’t falter, but her eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t ask names, darling. You know that. But…” she trailed off, her fingers playing with the stem of her wine glass. “For you, maybe I could try to remember.”

Victor shifted uncomfortably behind Mr Cross. He could sense where this was going, and it wasn’t anywhere good.

Mr Cross leaned forward, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “You’ll remember now.”

Before Alisa Mont could blink, the cold barrel of Mr Cross custom silver pistol was pressed against her forehead. The smile vanished from her face, replaced by a cool composure, though there was a flicker of fear in her eyes. The entire speakeasy seemed to hold its breath.

“Dallion, darling,” she purred, though her voice lacked its usual confidence. “That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”

Dallion cocked the gun, his expression unchanging. “I don’t have time for games, Alisa. Who bought the damn tranquilizers?”

There was a long pause before she finally relented, her shoulders relaxing in defeat. “Fine. Fine. It was a man with a beard, black hair slicked back, and… oh, right, his eyes. One was red, the other black. Creepy as hell if you ask me.”

Dallion's brow furrowed slightly. He knew of no one with that description, but the details were enough to spark his interest. “How long ago?”

“A few days, maybe. Not sure where he went, though. I just sell, Dallion. I don’t track my customers.”

Satisfied for now, Dallion lowered his pistol and stood, signaling that their conversation was over. Victor breathed a silent sigh of relief as they left the booth, but Dallion's mind was already working, piecing together what this could mean.

As they exited the speakeasy, Victor jogged to catch up with Dallion's long strides. “So, what now, boss?”

Dallion didn’t answer immediately. He was thinking, calculating. Whoever this man with the two-toned eyes was, he had something Dallion needed, and that made him a target.

“We find him,” Dallion said simply, his tone final. And when Dallion Cross, decided to find someone, they were either dead or begging for mercy.

As they walked deeper into the underworld of Bone lake, Dallion's reputation followed him like a shadow. People feared him not because he was ruthless—though he was—but because he was a man of precision. When Dallion set his sights on something or someone, there was no escape.

The two of them turned down a narrow alley, away from the lights and noise of the main street. Here, in the dark recesses of Bone lake, the real deals were made. The real blood was spilled.

They arrived at another hidden corner, this one much more ominous than the speakeasy. It was a warehouse, and inside was where the real power of Bone lake operated—the syndicate leaders, the arms dealers, and the puppet masters who controlled every illegal trade in the city.

Dallion wasn’t here for a meeting, though. He was here to collect information, and there was one person in Bone lake who knew everything there was to know—Vito “The Whisper”

Vito was a weasel of a man, thin and rat-like in appearance, but he was invaluable because his information was always accurate. He lived in the shadows, hearing and seeing things no one else could.

Dallion found him in the back of the warehouse, hunched over a table covered in papers and files. Vito looked up as they approached, his eyes widening when he saw Dallion.

“Black Death… what brings you here?” Vito’s voice was shaky, but he tried to hide it with a forced grin.

Dallion didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I need information. A man with two different colored eyes. Red and black. You know him?”

Vito swallowed hard, his eyes darting around nervously. “Yeah, I know him. He’s new around here, but he’s making waves. No one knows his real name, but they call him ‘The Phantom.’ Dangerous guy. Not someone you wanna mess with.”

Dallion's lips curved into a predatory smile. “That’s exactly who I’m looking for.”

Vito shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly not wanting to get involved. “Look, Damian, I’m just the messenger. I don’t—”

Dallion Cross cut him off, his voice cold. “Where can I find him?”

There was a long pause before Vito finally sighed. “He’s been seen near the docks. Rumor has it he’s working on something big. But if you’re going after him, be careful. He’s not like the others. He’s... different.”

Dallion nodded, already turning to leave. “Don’t worry, Vito. I’ll handle him.”

As they walked out of the warehouse, Victor looked nervously at his boss. “This guy sounds dangerous.”

Dallion's eyes darkened. “So am I.”