CHAPTER 2: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM
"Good. Good," the Boss muttered, his voice raspy like sandpaper.
He leaned back into the worn leather seat of the private compartment, reaching into his vest to pull out a silver case. With practiced fingers, he withdrew a thick tobacco leaf cigar and lit it. The flame flickered in the dim light of the train, casting long, dancing shadows against the wood-paneled walls. He took a long drag, the tip of the cigar glowing a fiery orange, before exhaling a thick cloud of grey smoke.
"Before we hand this haul over to the secondary teams for transport, I want eyes on every single door," the Boss said, pointing the glowing end of his cigar at the broad-shouldered man standing before him. "Make sure you guys properly watch those passengers. I don't want any heroes, and I don't want any runners. You understand?"
"Yes, Boss," the man replied, his voice a low, obedient rumble.
The Boss leaned forward, his eyes narrowing through the haze of smoke. "I'll say it again because I know how you lot can get. I don't want this job turning into a mess. We've put too much time and too much Zen into this. Make sure you and the others do the job exactly as briefed. No deviations. No mistakes."
"I understand, Boss. It'll be done," the man said. He gave a sharp nod, turned on his heel, and stepped back out into the narrow corridor, the heavy sliding door clicking shut behind him.
Left alone with the only other occupant of the room, the Boss let out a sudden, boisterous laugh. It was a sound of utmost joy the laugh of a man who believed he had already won.
"AHAHA! Look at that," the Boss said, gesturing vaguely at the window as the landscape blurred past. "It looks like today's work will be completed one hundred percent. Not a single disturbance in sight. The perfect heist."
Across from him, a man sat draped over a chair in a relaxed, almost mocking posture. He hadn't said a word until now, his face partially hidden in the shadows. He chuckled, a dry, cold sound that didn't reach his eyes.
"You're very confident," the man said. "But who knows? What if a Sorcerer from the Association shows up unannounced? One of those 'Jinx' users could spoil the whole show before you even get to the drop-off point."
The Boss took another slow pull from his cigar, his confidence unshaken. "There is no way in hell that's going to happen. Not after all the planning we've done. We've jammed the signals, we've bribed the right people, and we're on a ghost line. The Association doesn't even know this train exists right now."
The man in the chair shifted, a sharp, white smile cutting through the darkness of his hood. "Oh? Isn't that exactly why I'm here? I was sent along just in case you guys fuck up. A little insurance policy, courtesy of the higher-ups."
The Boss's face contorted with sudden intense rage which made the veins on his head pop up. The cigar trembled slightly in his hand. "Don't give me that bullshit smile of yours! There is no way a Sorcerer would show up here. Look where we are! We're in the outskirts, the middle of nowhere. No one is coming to save these damn people."
The mysterious man stood up slowly, stretching his limbs like a cat. "Is that so? Then let's see which of us is correct then. If they don't come, well, we both win and I get paid for sitting on my ass. But if they do come... then I win a different way. I get to kill a Sorcerer. It's been a while since I've had a decent challenge."
This arrogant bastard, the Boss thought, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists under the table. Always acting big, acting like he's the one in charge just because he can handle a Jinx. I would have put a bullet in his head months ago if we didn't need his help against those damn Sorcerers. They keep getting in our way, but today... today is supposed to be different.
The silence that followed was heavy and tense, broken only by the rhythmic clack-clack of the train on the tracks. But then, the rhythm was shattered.
BAM!
The compartment door was slammed open so hard it nearly cracked the frame. A man rushed in, his face pale and slick with sweat. He was gasping for air, his chest heaving as if he had run the entire length of the train in seconds.
"B-Boss...! Boss...!!" the man wheezed, clutching his side.
The Boss stood up, knocking his chair backward. "What's wrong? What is it? Tell me! Why are you running like your life depends on it?"
The messenger tried to speak, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. His eyes rolled back into his head, and his knees buckled. He collapsed onto the floor, unconscious from sheer exhaustion and terror.
"Useless trash!" the Boss hissed.
Suddenly, the silence of the room was punctured by the sharp, static hiss of the walkie-talkie sitting on the table. A voice crackled through, distorted and panicked.
"Boss! Boss, there is a problem! Something is in the corridor! It's—AAACKKK!"
The transmission ended with a sickening, wet crunch and a scream that was cut short.
The Boss grabbed the radio, his thumb jamming down on the talk button. "Hey! Hey! Talk to me! What the hell is going on over there? Answer me, you dumbass!"
He shook the radio, but all that came back was the sound of static and a faint, rhythmic tapping... like footsteps approaching the door.
The man in the chair didn't look worried. In fact, his evil smile grew wider. He reached behind his back, his hand gripping the hilt of a hidden blade.
"Looks like I win the bet, Boss," he whispered. "The Sorcerers are here."