Rising Moon (MxM) Book 1

Chapter 14. Mission, Trucks, Failure

---------------------------------------------

Fully dressed in uniform, the only clean outfit he had for the moment, Crescent made his way to stand in a line of men. Falling neatly in place, he turned his gaze to see who had shown up. Not being well acquainted with other gang members sparked him without knowledge of familiar faces. There were various gang meetings for the juveniles to hang out and get along, but Crescent refused to attend.

Not one to listen to the hardships of others, he also wasn't one to tell his own. Barely filled with trust, Crescent has learned through his life that nothing was permenant. Whether he decided upon it or someone had the control to take it from him. That was how life worked. A few years and people became too comfortable.

Standing in an office as big as his room, a large desk and chair remained before them. The desk had a lot of scratches on it. It was as if someone repeadelty had taken a fork and dug into the wood. Carved out sections of the desk, pieces of shavens resting at the legs. The men at his side stood stiff, all hands tucked behind their back to represent soldiers. Either they were told to do so, or that was a norm here. Asho usually demanded respect; however, rarely gave any.

Though he never controlled his gang when they weren't in his presence, Crescent have seen many things without consequence, he was sure to play the part when he was around.

Crescent knew nothing, refusing to stand as one of them was prevalent. Hands tucked in his pocket, he rocked back and forth on the balls of his heels, awkwardly. Hoping Asho didn't bother him today.

Bookshelves covered all four walls, some rows missing the same thick black book without titles. Were these actual books or a decoration? He used to wonder that when he walked passed large builing with giant windows. From top to bottom, books riddled the rooms. There were ladders leaned against the book shelves and more books on carts. He would often see a slim build lady with large circular glasses and gold frames attending to the mass amount of books. She swipe them clean with a duster. Sometimes she'd look at him, smile and continue her work. Only later did he learn that it was a Library and she was a Librarian.

For what its worth this room was neat. Dark brown colored rug recently vacuumed by the streaks going across. It shared some brown stains, but they looked to be cleaned and faded.

The coffee table off in the corner harbored a lamp, a few teacups, and a small glass teapot. The room looks ordinary, and plain as if were just a simple cover-up. With the thin window opened, cool air kept the entire room from being stuffy. Crescent didn't see any air conditoner vents. His yes wandered around, trying to keep his mind busy. He wished whoever had summoned them would hurry up.

He had been escorted here once meeting up with Vergyl in the lunchroom. The second in command never addressed them. He fixed his spectacles and walked forward like a ritual was performed. Vergyl wasn't friendly. He seemed more immersed with what he had going on and when asked about anything personal, he'd never answer. Tried to keep the mysterious trope, but it just turned into an anti-social dianosis.

Now staring at the back of the chair, he narrowed his eyes. It was clear by the slight swaying that someone occupied it. Were they killing time on purpose? They were all standing here for at least five minutes

Walking up to each member, Vergyl handed out a card. The card mimicked the one they received as an ID for the gang; however, there was a completely different insignia on the side. Even the colors were different. There was an animals clawed scratch symbol imprinted on the back. The front read, The Pack. Why would they need another ID?

"Wear them for a few days, but don't forget where you belong." A voice traveled from behind the chair. Light, nonchalant, and very weak. Crescent kept examining the card, his brows furrowed. What job would cause them to abandone their original gang?