Vengeance

CHAPTER: 8 CONDITIONAL AGREEMENT

So Hee's Perspective

In the eerie ambiance of Mr. Bulky's supposed lair, where shadows danced like malevolent spirits, I couldn't deny the palpable creepiness of the situation. Here I was, face to face with a man claiming to be a mafia leader, yet he lounged casually, cracking jokes as if we were at a family picnic. But beneath his facade of nonchalance, I sensed the ticking time bomb, and I knew I had to tread carefully.

Seated across from Mr. Bulky, I feigned an air of indifference, my feet confidently propped on the table, a visual facade betraying the turmoil within. His sweet tones and jests couldn't mask the tension lurking in his eyes, and I understood the urgency of my decisions.

"I find myself caught between a rock and a hard place, let's just say you really do own a mafia, and are as dangerous as playing with fire, and I join you to help you accomplish your goals, but what do I gain in return...??" I admitted, dead serious. "I walk away, and I'll be drowned in debts I can't settle. Join forces with you, and it's a leap into the unknown, sans safety nets." I held his gaze, unflinching, knowing that every second counted.

He rose, turning his back to me, lighting a cigar, an act of nonchalance that belied the gravity of our conversation. "Back to the serious talks all of a sudden, I see. Fine with me, let's not beat around the bush then," he remarked. "Here's the deal. I need something you have, and in return, name your price. A monthly paycheck, a cozy house, a sleek car - it's a win-win for us both."

Turning back his intense gaze locked onto mine, daring me to challenge the simplicity of his proposition. But I had plans of my own. I wasn't about to let the rules of this game be dictated solely for his benefit. I had learned early in life not to be pushed around by thugs, especially like ones standing before me.

"What if I don't want all of that?" I challenged. "Would you allow me to negotiate my terms and conditions in the agreement?" His surprising response, acknowledging my uniqueness, fuelled my determination.

"Well, let's hear what my little fighter needs," he urged. Seizing the moment, I presented my conditions, each demands a calculated step in this dark dance:

"1. I become a silent player in the club, earning 40% more than the rest, my presence masked by the facade of a regular employee, yet intricately entwined with the gang's affairs. Our secret remains sealed in the shadows.

2. The curtain remains drawn for my acquaintances, shielding them from this macabre drama. They shall not be ensnared in the coils of this underworld labyrinth.

3. The force at your disposal becomes mine, a double-edged sword wielded at my discretion, for personal and professional endeavors. A lethal dance with no interference to halt my steps."

With these terms laid bare, the tension in the room thickened, the air pregnant with the anticipation of the unholy alliance about to unfold.

"So Hee," Mr. Bulky declared, his voice a thunderclap echoing with ominous resonance, "your demands are no mere flicker in the pond of destiny. They're ripples, and in our world, ripples become waves that can either carry you to the shore or drown you in the depths of uncertainty."

Balancing on a metaphorical tightrope, each step I took felt like a delicate ballet on the precipice of consequence. "Your first act is granted," he conceded, "a silent player in this macabre performance. Your steps shall echo in the shadows, your presence veiled by the smoke and mirrors of our underworld theatre."

As his words wrapped around me, the threads of our pact tightened, drawing me closer to the abyss. "But remember," he cautioned like a judge passing sentence, "in the dance of shadows, loyalty is not easily shed. Betrayal seeps like poison, rotting the very foundations of our alliance."