Glory and Gore

A Stranger's Bed

One photo caught her eye. It was a shot of a large group, of what had to be nearly one hundred people. The group was made up of men that looked like the bar-goers from the night before: large, tattooed men with nicks, scrapes and bruises painting their bodies. On several of the men near the front, knives and pistols could be seen holstered to their hips.

One man stood in the centre of the large group, a broad grin spread across his lips. Lucy recognized him instantly, remembering her research into Crocus' mobs. This man, of course, was the most dangerous man in Fiore. The leader of the brotherhood. He was known for his ruthlessness, his cold hearted ways, his icy brutality. He would kill a man—one of his own men, in some cases—without considering other options. He was absolute danger.

Igneel.

Lucy had researched him thoroughly while covering her blurbs on the brotherhood, tried to dig up his past—but as far as public knowledge went, he didn't have one. One day he wasn't there, and one day he was. All that is known about him was that he rose through the ranks of the brotherhood quickly—far more quickly than anyone else ever had—and now he was their brutal, calculated leader.

The only thing the public seemed to know about Igneel was how absolutely brutal he could be. One story about him discussed how he'd murdered his own beloved wife due to whispers that she may be a traitor. His own wife, without a second thought.

Lucy shivered.

But here he was, smiling and beaming in this photo, his arms thrown over the men beside him like they were best pals. He didn't look like a ruthless killer here. He didn't look like he could harm a fly, let alone murder his own wife.

Lucy shook her head. Just because he doesn't look like a mobster doesn't mean he isn't one—remember the two from last night?

The thought of last night made her stomach churn. That group from the brotherhood had completely slaughtered the members from the shadows without straining whatsoever. That pink haired boy had killed twenty, twenty five men without blinking.

She tore her eyes from the picture frame, forcing herself to focus. She had to remember what was going on. She'd been taken by members of the brotherhood last night after witnessing them murder a large group from a rival gang. She'd been taken hostage, thrown into a car. She'd awoken, bruised and sore and in pain, with no memory of what had happened.

These were bad men. She couldn't forget that.

She continued down the hallway, every bone in her body aching. She was in rough shape; her head had never hurt so badly. She crept slowly, quietly, fearing that she might run into a mobster at any moment. The hallway split before her, opening up on her left to a room; to the right, the hallway continued. Lucy slowed her pace, praying to any god willing to listen that there was no one in the room. If there was, she'd be caught instantly.

Caught, and then murdered.

Lucy gasped in a breath as silently as possible, holding it in her chest as she slowly creeped by the room. She closed one eye, her expression twisting up into a grimace as she slithered by the room. She peeked in, her one open eye scanning the place.

The room was empty, just like the hallway.

The room was decorated nicely. There was a comfy looking sofa against the far wall, with ferns on either side of it; there were pictures on the walls, showing more goofy smiles on gangster's faces. In the middle of the room was a desk with papers scattered over top of it.

Figuring ducking into this room to catch her breath was better than running into a gangster in the hallway, Lucy slipped into the room, careful to scan for bodies one more time. Once she was satisfied that she was alone in this room, she let out her breath, sighing heavily.