All around the Phobos Sea, the name of the Rough-House Gang is known. A group that doubles as a pirate crew as well as a gang, they have holds on all major islands. Perhaps their strongest base of operations is on Burundi, and its name is Negare Astrum. They have about thirty-two members of the gang stationed here, including the leader, who is rarely, if ever, mentioned by name without his permission.
It was two-fifteen p.m. and there was one and three-quarter hours until the Detective Pirates were scheduled to meet. James and company were walking through town, when they came across a five-star restaurant. Milangelo and Crock had agreed to go and find Cameron. They had just heard that five people had been taken hostage by the attackers of the market. Piranha's boss had dismissed him to sort through some work.
"What a hassle. At least these eels will taste spectacular."
He threw away the papers on his desk and made his way to another part of the warehouse. There was a person in a hazmat suit, and a table set up to look like a kitchen bench.
"Excellent, Freshwater. I have thirteen pounds of eels. Make the soup," said the man.
"Right away, sir. Strong or weak?" asked Freshwater.
"At least three pounds of strong. The rest can be whatever you feel like brewing."
"You know, you're probably the best boss I've ever had."
"Is that so? How sad. You must be an underachiever."
"Yeah, you know it. But I make a mean eel soup."
"Well, that's why you're here. To make me eel soup."
Meanwhile, James and company were outside of a restaurant.
"Do we have any money?" asked Patricia.
"Of course, I always carry my–" began James, who felt that his pocket was oddly absent of his wallet.
Karnilla burst out laughing. "Relax, I stole it."
"Relax, she says, after admitting to stealing my wallet."
"You looked really handsome in that license photo."
"Which one?" asked Patricia, with an expression that said This game is fun. That was all it needed to say.
"His license to kill," answered Karnilla.
"That's awesome," said Patricia.
"You two and your games. How is this even fair? It's not like I get a photo of you to comment on."
"That's not how this game works. But you're smart, right? You should know how to play," said Patricia.
"Not necessarily true, Pat. Mister Captain is still learning. He's only smart when he knows what the game is," said Karnilla.
James wanted to dispute that, but instead he asked Karnilla for his wallet back.
"You aren't going to play this game?" asked Karnilla.
"There's a time and there's a place for having your games up in my face," replied James.
"Well we decide that time and place, so stop trying to hide your face," added Patricia.
"You two call me Mister Captain, as if those words mean nothing. I want respect, not acting, because those words mean something."
"You've got a point, but don't you see, it's a necessary action. These games are the only way for our trust to gain traction."
"You think you know the best time and place. But we're out the front of a restaurant and letting time waste."
"Kans, I think he won, what do you think?"
"I'm not done, I have one more rhyme. When the game is fun, how is it wasting time?"
James had a good laugh and asked if he could have his wallet back so they could go inside and get a table for three. The two women reluctantly agreed.
"Hello and welcome to Meals Eternal, my name is Charleston, and I shall be your waiter for this afternoon."
"So, this is a five-star restaurant?" asked Karnilla, playfully.
"Here at Meals Eternal, we pride ourselves on our cooking, hospitality, and a lack of domestic terrorism."
"Is that dry and dark wit or are you seriously talking about the lack of violence in your restaurant?" asked Patricia.
"The other five-star restaurants are frequented by gangs. However, in all of our history, we've not had one attack."
"Has this man never heard of a jinx before?" asked Karnilla.
"Who knows? I mean, all that talk about being gang-free, sooner or later, there's bound to be something. It's kind of like tempting fate, right?" said Patricia.
"Well, I assure you, I don't much care about the future. Table for three, I presume?"
James and company secured their table, and went to sit down at it. James looked around the room and noticed there were very few people. He thought to himself, I'm eating at a five-star restaurant. How long has it been since I've done that?
Meanwhile, Milangelo and Crock were searching, following every lead they could get. It was a tough road, and they did not have nearly the skill of James when it came to deduction and investigation. It was quarter to four, when they decided to give up and head for the docks. At this time, James and the women had finished up at the restaurant and were also heading back.
Earlier that day, at three p.m., four trucks loaded with goods from the gunpowder market, and one housing five hostages, arrived at an undisclosed location outside of all jurisdiction.
"How many hostages?" asked a voice.
"Five, sir," said a man in response.
"Pick one and start the intimidation."
This man, who was unloading the hostages off the truck, looked at one of the hostages and walked them into a private room. He took the bag off this person's head and grinned. The hostage he had chosen to interrogate was Cameron.
"Hello, my name is Kent. You've been kidnapped by the Martyrs Gang. Here's the deal. We need you to be a good hostage and be absolutely terrified, okay?" said the man.
Cameron looked as his captor. He was tall, well-built, and had a toothpick in his mouth. His teeth were well-kept and strong, but he had bad breath, as if he had eaten rotten meat. His body language betrayed the kind of person that would kill without a second thought. Cameron thought, Shit, I never thought I would meet people like them again. Whatever. I can't be afraid, not now, nor ever again. Cameron began to speak.
"Terrified? You have the wrong person, asshole."
The man named Kent laughed hysterically, and then said "You don't fool me, you fresh-eyed youth. You're how old?"
"I'm twenty-one. But if you think I'm going to be scared of some no-name low-life with bad breath, think again."
In an instant, Cameron knew the comment on Kent's breath had angered him. This man was now standing over him, eyes wide, and stature exaggerated.
On the other side of town, a tall man walked through the street while talking on his phone.
"Disco, where are you?" asked the person on the other end.
"I'm en route to you-know-where, baby," the man replied.
"What have I told you about ending your sentences that way?"
"Nothing I care to listen to, mister boss-man. Now, why have you called? Are you getting impatient, with style?"
"Just get here as soon as you can. Piranha's running an errand and I need someone here for my feeding."
"Oh, baby. You're going to eat that eel soup again, aren't you? You naughty boy. You know what that does to you."
"Quit trying to persuade me. My mind is made up on this. Just be sure to be there."
"You know it, scamp. Everyone needs a sober partner every now and then to help them through the trip."
"You're in a good mood. When was the last time you burned something?"
"Oh, this morning, there was a little fire in my bed. He's a good boy, all the time, and so I let him eat a curtain before putting him out. Holes in my jeans! It was sad to see him go."
The man on the other end had lost his patience for the man named Disco, and reiterated his need for someone trustworthy. Disco agreed that he would be there in a few minutes, and arrived at an old warehouse at four past three p.m.
"Dude, I can smell it in the air. Freshwater can really make it, can't he? Good gadgets, that smells."
"Silence, Disco. I am about to enjoy this month's eel soup."
Back at Kent's interrogation room, Cameron was not having any of his captor's behaviour. As a result, he had been bitten, scratched, beaten, kicked, and tortured. At this point he was less scared and more frustrated. Why can't I defend myself? What is holding me back? He closed his eyes and tried to brush away the pain. In this focused moment, he experienced a brief clarity. This was something he had only heard described to him by Milangelo. This was it, he was about to unlock within himself something he had left dormant.
He let it build up, and took all of it that he could. He could feel his wounds healing and his strength doubling. "Two-strength: Complete Gambit," he exclaimed. Milangelo had told him why: the exclamation of one's intention allows for a better focus on execution. The more one achieves a technique, however, the more familiar it becomes. A technique's name can be muttered or skipped over if the person is strong enough. First timers and learners, however, are encouraged to exclaim their techniques. There is also fighter's etiquette to consider as well: if your opponent can be reasonably be expected to be unfamiliar with your power level or learned techniques, communication is a sign of courtesy. Cameron kept all of this in mind when he broke free of his restraints and stood facing his captor.
"You're no ordinary person. Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm Cameron Miles. And I don't care for this confinement."
"Tough luck, because you're in here with me. Considering your base strength, I think it would be unfair of me to increase my strength as well. So, let's see what you've got."
"Two-strength: Andromeda Rush," exclaimed Cameron as he lunged forward with all the speed his strengthened body would allow. He caught Kent off-guard and his arm dug into the man's stomach, hard enough and fast enough to make his captor feel sick. He ran out the room, looking for the bathroom. Cameron used his newfound strength to kick through the planks of the room and escape to what appeared to be a dock.
There may be others held hostage. What do I do? Surely it would be foolish to take care of this by myself. Perhaps I should find my friends and see what to do from there. After he had thought it through in his head, he left for the docks.
Kent was throwing up for several minutes straight, until his insides decided to cut him a break, and then he stood up from his bent-over-the-sink position. "Damn that little punk! I can't let anyone know about this. I'll just have to move on. If anyone asks, I don't know. I'll come up with something. Play dumb. Present plausible deniability. Whatever. If I see that Cameron ever again, I'll fucking kill him."
Kent emerged from the bathroom, and answered to the voice coming from the speakers, asking him what went on.
"Dunno, must have been an error. We'd all better make sure we're sober, because I'm pretty sure we only caught four hostages. I mean, where would a fifth even come from?"
It wasn't going to be easy talking his way out of this one, but he continued to do so. After a solid three minutes of excuses, the voice decided he would be better off just moving on to the next hostage instead of dwelling on whatever.
It was three-twenty p.m. The leader figure of the Rough-House Gang had just gotten off communications with Piranha.
"How is his errand? Could the toothy bastard actually fail at something for once, star-gazing?"
"He's disappointing me, to say the least. Well, as long as he lives up to his reputation, I don't care if he lets a little fish slip."
"Well, anyway, stop worrying about your business for an hour and enjoy your meal already. You've been waiting for this for quite some time. Eat up, and I'll be here to guide you through, skinny jeans are in fashion!"
"Is that some sort of idiom?"
Disco gave no answer, and so the man shrugged and picked up his bowl of eel soup and began to drink it.
As he drank, he remembered the words he had told Disco just moments ago: One might eat soup with a spoonful at a time. That is however, never recommended when consuming eel soup. The kind that Freshwater makes is especially tailored to my dietary requirements, as well as my spiritual requirements. I must drink it in one sitting to feel the fullest of its benefits and detriments. Do not worry about me, worry about what I do in my state of ascension.
Disco had not had the responsibility of supervising his boss' eating of eel soup before. He had only heard about it in small parts from Piranha, who liked to take pride in his importance in the matter. However, he would accept the challenge.
The boss felt himself tasting every ingredient in the soup, until he felt as if he were dreaming, yet still awake.
"Exercise caution: a detective of ill-repute may undo all you have connected," he heard a voice say. The voice appeared to take the form of a meadow. He was standing in the middle of it. "The blind man is a fool who thinks he sees, but sees not," continued the voice.
"That much is true, but what of this detective? It seems like an odd thing for you to bring up," he told the voice.
"The world order is changing. In a few short years, the world will be nothing like the one you seek to control. The key is the Terminus, and the pirates brave enough to go there."
"That's the thing about prophecies. You never know which ones will even apply to you. I seek approval for a project."
"Your project will succeed. That is all I'm going to tell you."
"What the hell? You tell me I'm going to be undone, and then you say my project succeeds? Which is it?"
"It is both. So long as you continue, it will be both."
"What do you mean?"
"I should not have to explain myself to such a horrid person such as yourself. How it is that you're able to achieve this state of mind in the first place is beyond me."
"How cold, Gaia. You are always so cold. And yet, they revere you as warm and nurturing. How ironic."
"There is no love for the loveless. You are the one who has rejected the path of peace and goodwill, and so you face disdain from the Earth itself."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. And it is such a pity, you would have made an excellent policeman. But here you are, plotting sinister things and asking for divine guidance and prophecy."
"My name is Barracuda. And you, my dear, are to leave the past in the past where it belongs! Good day to you!"
He came to and thanked Disco for his service. It was twenty past four p.m., and he had new business to attend to.