"I'm not in the mood for games. Get out of my way."

  The men, their bodies still buzzing with pain, instinctively obeyed. They scurried aside, their eyes wide with fear as Ganjo brushed past them.

  Ganjo burst out of the apartment building and into the street, the shouts and wails of the evicted woman echoing behind him. He strode towards the sleek black sedan, eager to escape the stifling atmosphere of the apartment and the lingering tension of the confrontation.

  As he approached the car, a voice cut through the air, a familiar tone laced with surprise and concern.

  "Ganjo?"

  Ganjo paused, turning towards the sound. Olt stood a few feet away, his eyes scanning the scene with a cautious gaze.

  "What are you doing here?" Ganjo questioned.

  Olt gestured towards the apartment building, its chipped paint and rusted balconies gleaming under the harsh sunlight.

  "I live here.”

  Ganjo's eyes widened slightly, understanding crossing his face.

  "Oh, what a coincidence.”

  A moment of awkward silence hung between them, punctuated only by the sounds of the city. Then, a voice boomed from across the street.

  "Ganjo! Olt!"

  Rebecca, her face beaming with a newfound energy, strode towards them, dodging the occasional car with an agility that surprised Ganjo.

  Ganjo’s curiosity piqued.

  "You too. Are you guys following me?"

  Rebecca grinned.

  "I could ask you the same question. But I'll let you answer first."

  Ganjo hesitated. He glanced at Olt, then back at Rebecca. Olt shrugged as he replied.

  "We were just discussing that.”

  The three of them joined each other in awkward silence. The joyful percussion of the music playing from the storefronts masked their silence. Then, Ganjo sighed.

  "I need a drink, you two wanna join?"

  The bar was a lit purgatory, a concrete box with open windows facing the street. Its walls were lined with faded posters of baseball and fight stars. Their painted eyes promised victories. A jukebox in the corner wheezed out a merengue tune, the rhythm a common sound in these parts of Synoro.

  Ganjo took a beer from a bucket at the center of the table. It was brisk with ice. He took a long swig of his beer. The bottle was slick with condensation. The cold was a stark contrast to the simmering rage in his gut. He slammed the bottle down on the chipped Formica table.

  "Well boys, looks like we're fucked."

  Olt, nursing his own beer, nodded slowly. His eyes, usually bright with curiosity, were clouded with a weary acceptance. He mumbled, the words barely audible above the din of the street.

  "I'd say we're damned if we do and damned if we don't."

  Rebecca, her face still bearing the marks of the previous night's brawl, snorted. She leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on the grimy ceiling fan that struggled to stir the humid air.

  "Welcome to the club. I've been a member for years."

  Outside, Ayuda sat in the sleek black sedan, a silent sentinel in the urban chaos. He sipped his beer.

  The jukebox sputtered, the merengue tune replaced by a mournful ballad. The singer's voice, a raspy wail of lost love and betrayal, seemed to mock their predicament. Ganjo took another swig of his beer. He looked at Olt.

  "So, what’re you thinking of doing? I wouldn’t let that prick, Freddy, use you."

  Olt and Rebecca exchanged glances, their eyes mirroring the same question. The bar, the city, the world outside – it all seemed to hold its breath, waiting for an answer. But the only sound was the mournful wail of the singer, a soundtrack to their impending doom.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  A wave of nervous excitement washed over Olt, mania spreading across his face. He took another sip of his beer.

  "Honestly, I don’t know. I’m glad Rebecca wants to help. But after what happened to her, I just don’t know if it’s worth the risk."

  He paused, his attention switching between Ganjo and Rebecca.

  "I want to save my family’s home. But if it’s at the price of their life, then what’s the point."

  Olt's words tumbled out in a rush, a torrent of anxieties and fears.

  “Jeffrey’s past is synonymous with Oliver Nader, just like both of you. And he’s always been paranoid about retaliation. It’s why he’s done his best to stay legitimate. Even if I find it delusional.”

  Olt ran a hand through his short, cropped hair.

  "I might as well take Freddy’s offer and send my family away."

  Ganjo interjected.

  "Bullshit. You’re better off working for me. Fuck that guy."

  Rebecca’s eyes narrowed, as she shot Ganjo a sarcastic glance.

  "We could manipulate the situation."

  Curiosity ran through Ganjo and Olt’s face, as they remained quiet, awaiting Rebecca to explain. Rebecca continued.

  “Olt could work for Freddy as a front. Use the opportunity to push intel up to you and me, Ganjo. We leverage it as some form of blackmail. It’s what our mentors taught us. In this town, it’s all connected. Freddy, Dasa Vech, Hadic. If they want to bring us down, then we make sure to tear the whole house apart.”

  Plotting against the man who had provided him protection for the past two years, did not make Ganjo feel better. But after Veronica’s demands, did he have a choice? Rebecca and Olt were convincing themselves of the choice they had to make. Although Ganjo wanted to believe he had options, most did not guarantee his survival.

  “You’d be putting me directly at odds with Ves. I’ve spent the last few years building trust and loyalty with him.”

  Rolling her eyes as she chuckled cynically, Rebecca replied.

  “You really think, Ves Malmo, the most powerful lord of Synoro’s Dasa Vech- you think he doesn’t have a contingency plan in case you happen to screw him? If there’s anyone who knows this, it’s you.”

  Ganjo sighed. The nerves in his stomach twisted. He hoped the Freddy fiasco wouldn’t bring too much attention from Ves. He couldn’t risk Ves discovering he’d been having talks with Veronica Guzman. But, Rebecca was not wrong. With how events were unfolding for himself and those around him, it was best he prepared himself.

  “You make a point. But, your plan isn’t it.”

  Silence overcame Ganjo. His eyes roamed pensively.

  As Rebecca grabbed the second beer from the bucket, she demanded an answer.

  "I don’t like the suspense. Spill it out.”

  “There’s someone that’s demanding I provide them with blackmail on Hadic and anyone or anything linked to him. And to be honest, I don’t have a choice,” Ganjo declared.

  Olt's brow furrowed.

  “Uh, what?”

  …

  Fresh ice surrounded their second bucket of beer. The percussion of the merengue music vibrated through them, loudly. A half hour had passed since Ganjo confessed his encounter with the mysterious Veronica.

  "What makes you so sure this isn’t some trick?" Olt asked.

  Ganjo shrugged, a sign of uncertainty in his eyes.

  "I don't know. All those years running psy-ops and spying for Rebecca’s dad, always remind me to be wary of strangers."

  He was fixed on the grimy floorboards.

  "Could be some test from, Ves. Maybe he knows what Hadic is doing, since he has ears throughout the continent. But, it might not be. Like I said, Veronica was very confident when she mentioned your father, Rebecca."

  A fly buzzed past, a kamikaze pilot in the oppressive heat. It slammed against the faded poster of a long-dead baseball star.

  Rebecca continued, her voice gaining a hint of determination.

  “Ok, let’s say she’s the real thing. Once my dad proved he could handle his enemies during the early years of his rule, I know he got support from certain factions across the continent. He never gave me the details, but I know he had guidance from people abroad.”

  Ganjo’s eyes narrowed, shooting Rebecca a skeptical glance.

  “Yeah, that’s always been obvious to me. With so many powerful people working against Oliver, I always doubted he was able to maintain 30 years of rule on domestic operations, alone.”

  “So you’re thinking of asking for protection in exchange for dirt?” Olt interjected. "I can't really pay Rebecca for her time, so I don't mind."

  A bead of sweat trickled down Ganjo's temple. It dripped onto the table. Ganjo warned, his voice thick with concern.

  "It's a dangerous game, I’m about to play. But if it works, I’m hoping to get enough out of this Veronica lady to help all of us."

  Olt hesitated. The bar, the city, the world outside – it all seemed so overwhelming.

  "We all have something to give, and nothing to lose. Either we make a decision, or it’s gonna be made for us.”

  Either we make a decision, or it’s gonna be made for us. Ganjo felt a pang of sympathy for the young man, his own past struggles reflected in Olt's words. Ganjo had been there, standing on the precipice, staring into the abyss of uncertainty. He glanced at Rebecca. Rebecca, the privileged daughter of a powerful father, was choosing to fight, to risk everything. It was an absurd act of defiance, a suicidal charge against the entrenched forces of power. And yet, there was a strange dignity in it, a refusal to bow down, to accept the predetermined fate.

  Did I ever have that much self-respect? Ganjo wondered, a flicker of doubt casting a shadow over his thoughts. He'd always played the game, bending the rules, making compromises, doing whatever it took to survive. But Rebecca, with her reckless idealism, was challenging the very rules more than he ever could.

  More sweat trickled down Ganjo's forehead, tracing a path through the stubble on his face. As noble as he sounded, the choice he was about to make still had an ulterior motive.

  Ganjo reached for the last beer in the bucket. The cold, bitter taste, a fitting end to their meeting.

  "I have to go. But I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back from Veronica."

  Rebecca and Olt nodded, anticipating the results.