How (and when) did the brothers (Cain and Able) join the mafia? (灬º‿º灬)
They joined the mafia after half the syndicate left to become what we know today as "the insurgency".
I won't go into very specific detail of how they got into the mafia in the first place though! (since it'll be mentioned later on future acts and I don't wanna spoil stuff). But basically, the syndicate was low on members—coincidentally heard about Able who is athletic, he's enough to be the perfect torturing machine. He joined without hesitation (of course he does).
For Cain however, the syndicate only piqued interest after Able mentioned his brother once when briefing, before Cain was employed by them. They needed someone smart & has extremely long-term memory.
They just basically show up at people's doors, gave them an application but don't specify they're a mafia group till they actually sign the application. So it applies to the biblings :>
May is the mental health awareness. I hope everyone is doing alright, and think on how you managed to survive those difficult challenges. Be proud of yourself.
I know his name is Johnny Redd or something in his old files but I just think it doesn't suit him very well. So I just call him 'Damir' since it is associated with iron or steel.
And my second reason is that most Native American tribes involve naming their children after objects, animals or natural elements.
ACT II — “RUMORS IN THE HALLWAYS, BLOOD IN THE STREETS”
(Like the previous act, this is also a recap of my poorly explained lore in writing form. Except you might notice some changes since my writing had gradually improved. If you see any mistakes NO YOU DIDN'T 👀👀👀)
THE NEXT DAY (took place a day after ACT I is what I meant)
At the school courtyard of Darrell High School. Practice is in full swing. Players are running drills on one side of the courtyard, while the cheerleaders rehearse formations near the steps over and over again. The whole place feels too loud to be calm, too ordinary to be harmless.
Iris stands on the bleachers with a polaroid camera, adjusting the lens and checking settings with focused irritation. Meri is beside her, carrying spare equipment and a small bag of extras like batteries and some memory cards. They were dragged here because Iris is tasked to take photographs of the players and cheerleaders, Meri came along for assistance.
Not so far away, Leora sits alone in one of the bleachers, gazing at the students, half-watching the practice field, half-watching everything else. She looks tired in a way that does not match the afternoon. Meri was the one to notice her strange behavior first.
She nudged slightly at Iris.
"That's her again."
Iris glances over while still adjusting the camera.
"Leora? Yeah, I see her. She always sits like that?"
Merit hesitates, then lowers her voice.
"Not always. She used to be different. More energetic. Lately she just... I don’t know? She feels empty. Cold, almost."
Iris finally looks up from the camera.
"Maybe she is just going through an emo phase. Everyone has gone through one. Even my pet pigeon."
Meri gives Iris a look. Then she smiled but it doesn't reach her eyes.
"You say that like it explains everything."
"Eh. It usually explains enough"
Iris responded. Meri shakes her head and gestures subtly toward Leora.
"Then explain that scar on her eye, beneath her bangs."
Iris' gaze follows the gesture and actually studies Leora now. The casual expression fades a little.
"Okay, I see it now. That is not exactly a “just being dramatic” scar."
Leora shifts on the bench, as if she can feel them looking at her. She does not turn around, but her shoulders tense. She quickly got up and walks away from the bleachers and went inside the school building.
"That’s what I’m talking about. She’s not acting like herself."
Meri said. Iris adjusts the camera again, but now her attention is split.
"You know her better than I do?"
"Not really. That’s the problem."
Across the courtyard, one of the cheerleaders calls for a formation reset. A whistle blows. The players groan. The noise fills the space again, but the mood between the girls has changed.
She took only a few snaps of the cheerleaders before turning to Meri. Iris lowers the camera just slightly.
"Alright. I’m interested now."
Meri exhales, relieved that someone else is finally seeing it too.
"Good. Because I’m pretty sure something is wrong."
Iris lifts the camera back up, but this time she is no longer just taking photos.
"Yeah. I noticed."
Meanwhile, Leora steps inside the girls' bathroom and lets the door swing shut behind her. It is quiet except for the buzz of the lights and the faint noise from the courtyard outside.
She stops at the sink and looks up into the mirror.
For a moment, she just stares.
The face looking back feels unfamiliar. Tired. Older than it should be. Feels like she has been carrying too much for too long.
"What have you become?"
She said to her reflection, her fingers brushing through the scar under bangs. Her phone buzzes all of a sudden. Then checks the screen. It was Gears.
She answers, leaning one hand on the sink.
"I'm here. What is it now."
Leora said blankly, slightly tired.
"Change of plans. The syndicate’s safe house was compromised. The insurgency hit it before we could reinforce."
Leora’s face hardens immediately.
"And?"
"And we’re moving you. To a new location. A better safe house. Or townhouse, depending on what Clef is planning on or what clears first."
"I am not missing a pop quiz because your people can’t keep a roof standing."
"The syndicate’s safety matters more than some assignment."
Her expression changed slightly, with slightly irritation in her eyes.
"Of course that’s your argument."
"You'll be picked up. Pack your things."
Leora looks at herself in the mirror again, jaw tight.
"Fine."
She abruptly hangs up and slips the phone away in her pocket. Scanning around her surroundings before fully stepping out into the school corridor.
While Meri and Iris have started moving through the hallways, trying to catch Leora before she disappears again. They spot her near the lockers, she seems to be stuffing her things into her bag.
Meri rushes toward her first. Leora noticed and closed her locker before walking away.
"Leora—wait!"
Meri called out. Leora slows just enough to hear them, then keeps walking. Iris raised an eyebrow then said to Leora.
"Hey, seriously. We just want to ask you something."
Leora turns halfway, already preparing an excuse.
"I have to hit the books, we can have a girls night later."
They both went silent, Meri spoke up first.
"Right now?"
"Yep."
She takes two more steps.
Iris and Meri exchange a look, then hurry after her.
"You have been saying that all week..."
Then it’s a very consistent habit.
She turns a corner and nearly bumps straight into Rainer, who is carrying textbooks in his and looking completely lost.
"Oh sorry—"
He said. Leora pauses, then points at him like he is suddenly part of the plan.
"Rainer. Perfect. Help me settle something."
"I was not prepared to be perfect."
Rainer responded. Leora steps to the side and slides him right into the middle of the conversation like a human shield.
Now Iris and Meri are forced to look at him.
Rainer stands there, blinking.
"Greaat. Now I'm involved in something I wasn't prepared for. What is this all about?"
Leora folds her arms. Shrugged like she doesn't know either.
"Ask them."
Iris narrows her eyes.
"We were trying to ask you why you’ve been skipping classes, acting distant."
She said to Leora. Meri continued.
"And why you suddenly have a scar.."
Rainer’s expression changes from confused to concerned.
"Leora? You've been skipping classes?"
Leora’s face goes still.
"That is not relevant."
"That sounds extremely relevant."
He looks between the three of them.
"Also, I do not know why I am being dragged into this, but now I also want answers."
Leora exhales through her nose, clearly deciding she is done with this entire hallway.
"I really do need to go."
Leora muttered. She starts to move again. Meri immediately spotted Leora running towards the door.
"Oh, come on."
Iris said, letting out a sigh before she grabs Meri’s hand before Meri can react.
The two girls take off after Leora down the hallway.
Rainer stands in the middle of the corridor, still holding his books, and gives a small, helpless half-wave as they pass.
Leora disappears around the corner.
Iris and Meri sprint after her.
Leora moves fast now as she saw the two are chasing her, no longer pretending to be casual.
Students clog the hallway in messy clusters, popular kids with too-loud voices and too much confidence. A couple teachers glance up as she barrels through, annoyed and confused, but she does not slow down. She just shoulders past them like the whole building is in her way.
"Move!"
Leora said pushing through the crowd. Someone mutters something offended behind her, but Leora is already gone.
She pushes through the front entrance door and into the bright afternoon outside.
A long black vehicle waits at the side of the road, polished and quiet in a way that makes it feel wrong.
Iris and Meri burst through the doors a moment later and spot Leora sprinting across the parking lot.
They chase after her.
Iris slows for just a split second as she catches sight of the vehicle’s interior through the window.
There is a shadow in there.
A shape she recognizes, can see the tattoos on the person's face like scripture, even if only barely.
Iris narrows her eyes.
"Wait— what?"
Iris said to herself. But Meri is already moving ahead, trying to keep up with Leora.
Leora reaches the vehicle first and practically throws herself toward the open door, like she is late and there is no time to explain why.
For one brief second, it looks like she almost collides with someone already inside.
Then the door swings shut.
Meri does not have time to stop.
Her face hits the door with a sharp, dull thud.
"EEK!"
She let out a surprised squeak as she stumbles backward and lands on her butt on the pavement, stunned more than hurt. Her nose stings, but it does not bleed.
Iris freezes, then rushes to her.
"Ow… yeah. I think so. That was rude."
Her eyes drift to the side of the vehicle.
There, stamped on the body, is a small symbol.
Meri stares at it, confused.
It feels familiar.
Not just in a “seen it in a book” way, in a deeper, stranger way. Like she has seen it before, somewhere in her life, and her brain refuses to tell her where.
"Why does that logo look familiar...?"
She asked herself. The vehicle begins moving and drove away.
The inside of the vehicle is cramped, tense, and far too quiet for how many people are in it.
Leora is half-sprawled near the door where she landed, groaning as she realizes exactly what happened.
Her hand is still pressed against Iceberg’s face.
She pulls it back like it burned her.
"...Oops."
Gears immediately grabs Iceberg by the shoulder and hauls him upright before the situation can get worse.
"Sit down. Both of you."
Gears said, his expression showing little to no emotion. Leora blinks, then slowly looks around.
Everyone is alive.
That alone seems to surprise her.
At the front seat are Dyó and Damir. Along the side seats are Rights, Light, Able, Iceberg, and Gears. In the back, sitting with the kind of controlled stillness that makes the whole vehicle feel smaller, is Clef.
Leora’s face tightens.
"I thought one of you died."
Leora felt like someone is missing. Where's... Cain?
"Huh? Where's—"
"Do not mention the traitor."
Dyó said with a slight grudge, the whole vehicle didn't dare say anything to the mask. Leora catches that tone. Light reaches over and gives Leora a reassuring pat on the shoulder, trying to keep the atmosphere from snapping in half.
"I’ll explain everything after we relocate."
Leora stares at her, then at the others.
"So this is normal, then."
"No."
Able said, his eyes narrowed. Like something happened that Leora wasn't aware about.
"Absolutely not."
Rights said. That was enough to set them off. Able turns in his seat, glaring straight at Rights.
"You didn’t do anything when the insurgency raided the safe house."
Rights looks back, offended on principle.
"I was handling the fallout."
"You were handling air."
"And you were handling it so badly you nearly got caught by the LPD last month."
Able leans forward. His expression tightens.
"That was ONE time."
"It was not one time. It was just the loudest."
Damir mutters something under his breath, clearly regretting every decision that got him in this vehicle. Able teeth clenched.
"You spend half a mission acting like a distraction and the other half pretending it was part of the plan."
"And you keep killing the wrong targets because you get too impatient to check the details."
"At least I move."
"Atleast I think."
That lands badly.
The argument spirals fast, ugly and even personal, into every mistake they have ever made in this syndicate.
Missions gone wrong.
Bad calls.
Too much noise.
Too much ego.
Too little trust.
For a second, it is less like a relocation and more like a reunion no one asked for.
Leora watches in disbelief.
"This is what you people do in traffic?"
Rights head snapped towards Leora.
"Please stay out of this"
She said, only for Able to chime in.
"No, let the kid hear this. Maybe she’ll learn why our operations keep ending in chaos."
"Says the person who treats “precision” like a rumor."
Able starts to answer along the lines of "YOU—" , but Iceberg suddenly loses patience.
He practically shouts.
"Both of you shut up!"
The whole vehicle goes silent.
Even Dyó stops fuming for a second.
Iceberg sits back, breathing hard through his nose, like he is one more insult away from becoming a local weather event.
"We are not doing this right now."
Iceberg said, wiping his glasses with a cloth. Nobody moves.
Nobody speaks.
Then Clef finally breaks the silence from the back seat, voice low and even.
"We relocate. That is the plan."
Leora turns her head toward him.
"At this point, everyone in this vehicle already knows what you’re planning, right?"
Clef gives her a look that is somehow both patient and warning.
"Shush."
Just that. Calm. Controlled. Like he is talking to someone who has not yet learned when to stop pushing.
Leora huffs once, annoyed, but goes quiet.
Clef leans forward slightly, elbows resting near his knees, and starts explaining anyway.
"The safe house is compromised. We have two options: lose the location, or lose the people in it. And I chose the option that keeps us alive."
"That’s not a plan. That’s a cleanup operation with extra steps."
"We move to a temporary townhouse. Smaller footprint. Less exposure. Better surveillance access."
That makes Leora glance around the vehicle again, taking in the faces, the tension, the silence between every word.
Dyó is still visibly angry. His teeth are clenched so hard it looks painful.
Damir notices it first. He leans slightly toward him.
"Keep that out of your head for now."
Dyó does not look at him.
"I’m allowed to be angry."
Dyó responded.
"Be angry later. Right now we’re relocating."
Damir said. Dyó’s eyes flick toward the empty space where Cain should have been.
The whole mood shifts with that missing name.
Leora notices, even if she does not know the full story.
Light catches it too, but says nothing.
Clef folds his hands, speaking like the conversation is already over.
"When we arrive, everyone stays in pairs. Nobody wanders. Nobody improvises. Nobody tries to be clever."
That earns a few looks.
Especially from Leora.
"That last one feels targeted."
"It should."
For the first time, the vehicle feels like it is moving toward something instead of away from it.
Outside, the city blurs past the tinted windows.
Inside, nobody is smiling.
Hours passed.
The bar has thinned out. Chairs scrape softly against the floor as the last few customers leave. Neon lights hum overhead, casting everything in a tired glow.
Cain stands behind the counter, wiping it down in slow, methodical motions.
But his mind isn’t here.
It’s somewhere else.
Cain’s hand pauses mid-wipe.
Suddenly, thoughts started creeping in his brain. His mind was filled with doubts and questions.
"What if Clef agrees on Dyó's plan?"
"What if he doesn't see me as useful anymore?"
Cain exhales slowly, forcing the thought down.
From the other side of the counter—
"Who's closing?"
Aé asked. Cain doesn’t look up at first.
"I’ll do it."
Cain said. Aé studies him for a second, leaning casually against the counter, but her eyes are sharper than she lets on.
"You sure?"
She asked. Cain resumes wiping like nothing’s wrong. Before slowly nodding.
"Yeah."
"You look like you lost a fight with your own thoughts."
Cain almost smiles at that.
"Didn’t sleep well. That’s all."
Aé hums, unconvinced.
She straightens, making a decision for him.
"I’ll close."
Cain finally looks at her after she said that.
"You don’t have to—"
"I’ll handle it."
Clear. Firm. No room for debate.
Cain hesitates for half a second, the old instinct to stay, to control, to manage everything himself—
Then he lets it go.
"…Alright."
Aé nods once, already moving behind the counter like she owns the place.
"Go home. Sleep. Try not to punch any walls on the way."
Cain grabs his coat and his things from under the counter.
"I don’t punch walls."
"That sounds like something someone who punches walls would say."
A faint, tired smirk crosses Cain’s face.
He heads for the door, pausing just for a moment as he looks back at the bar, at the normalcy of it, the simplicity.
Something he’s trying very hard to hold onto.
"Please lock up properly."
"Fourth backup key. Noted."
Cain nods.
Then he leaves.
The door shuts behind him with a quiet click.
Cain exhales, slipping his hands into his coat pockets as he walks off into the night.
The city is calm.
Too calm.
Behind him, through the dim window, Aé watches for just a second—
Then turns off the lights.
...
Cain climbs the steps with the tired, deliberate pace of someone who has spent too long pretending the world is normal.
His coat is still on. His thoughts are not.
He reaches Grabnok’s door, fishing for his keys.
A voice speaks from behind him.
"Excuse me."
Cain pauses.
A man stands in the hallway under the weak yellow light, wearing a white hoodie with the hood pulled low enough that only his eyes are visible. The shadow of the hood makes his face unreadable.
He sounds foreign. French, maybe. His English is strained in places, like he is reaching for words he does not fully trust.
Cain studies him for a second, then answers carefully.
"Do you need help?"
The man nods, relieved.
"Oui. Je cherche ma chambre. Deux étages plus bas. (Yes. I am looking for my room. Two floors below.)"
Cain blinks once. Then his expression softens, just slightly.
He had gone through enough after-school language classes under Adam’s insistence to make something useful out of it for once.
Cain switches into French with calm, practiced ease.
"Bien sûr. Je peux vous aider. (Of course. I can help you.)"
The man pauses.
Then, almost amused—
"Vous parlez français. C’est surprenant. (You speak French. That is surprising.)"
Cain gives a tiny shrug.
"Je me débrouille. (I get by.)"
The man tilts his head, clearly impressed, and starts walking beside him.
"Merci. Mon anglais n’est pas… très bon. (Thank you. My English is not… very good.)"
"It's alright."
Cain leads him away from Grabnok’s door and down the corridor.
The man keeps pace at Cain’s side, posture casual, but somehow too controlled for a stranger lost in a hallway.
They reach the door two floors below.
The hooded man pulls out a key card, taps it against the lock, and opens the door.
He steps inside first.
Then pauses.
Cain barely has time to process the stillness before the man turns, grips him by the arm, and yanks him in.
The door shuts behind them.
"What—?"
Cain curses under his breath in English, sudden and sharp with shock as he is pinned against the door.
The hooded man leans in just enough for Cain to catch the shape of someone oddly familiar.
Then, in perfect English:
"You may or may not have known me."
Cain’s eyes narrow.
Recognition hits.
"... 049."
Cain said to himself. Haselhurst's posture shifts at once, as though he has been waiting for that exact moment.
He reaches up and pulls a small voice-changing device away from his hoodie. The second it comes free, his whole manner changes.
The accent drops away.
The English becomes fluent — but now it is unnervingly formal, precise, and controlled.
"At last."
Haselhurst said. Cain stares at him, expression flat, but the tension in his shoulders is immediate.
"You have a dramatic way of saying hello."
Haselhurst smiles thinly.
"And you have a dramatic way of leaving."
Cain responded. The air in the room settles into something heavy and deliberate.
This was not a chance meeting.
This was arranged.
The door is locked. The room is dim. Cain stands near the door, still tense from being dragged inside. Haselhurst has already stepped back, composed now, almost formal.
The silence between them is loaded.
"Start talking."
Cain said. Haselhurst folds his arms behind his back, like this is a meeting and not a trap.
"Very well."
He responded. But Cain does not move from the door.
"Before you get into whatever this is, understand something. I am not getting involved in the syndicate. Or the insurgency. I am done. I want out."
Haselhurst watches him carefully. Cain continued.
"I want a break. I want to be something other than a criminal. Being a bartender was not exactly the dream, but it is a start. It pays. It is quiet. It is normal enough."
Haselhurst's expression shifts. Just slightly.
"I understand the stress."
He said staring into Cain. Cain laughs once, but there is no humor in it.
"Do you?"
"Perhaps not in full. But I understand enough to know you are exhausted."
He takes a slower breath, then continues.
"Still, I want you to reconsider."
"No."
"073—"
"I said no."
Cain interrupted. Haselhurst does not raise his voice. He does not need to.
"Think of the possibilities if the syndicate disappears. If this whole machine goes quiet, you will not need to worry about being executed in your sleep. Or chased into another alley. Or dragged back into work you never wanted."
Cain’s stare hardens.
"That is a nice fantasy."
"It is a possibility."
Cain folds his arms.
"And if I say I do not care about the possibility?"
Haselhurst is quiet for a second.
Then, more carefully:
"Then I would say you are lying to yourself."
Cain looks away just long enough to be annoyed by that.
Then Haselhurst’s tone changes, becoming lighter, almost conversational.
"How has Dyó been?"
Cain glances back at him.
"Why are you asking me that?"
"Because you were there long after the split. You would know."
Cain hesitates, then answers with a faint frown.
"Weird."
Haselhurst’s brow lifts.
"Specifically weird around me. Sometimes I find lavenders on my desk."
Haselhurst goes very still.
Cain notices immediately.
"Your favorite flower, right? Dyó's mentioned it before."
Haselhurst says nothing.
Cain keeps going, voice low and dry.
"I figured it out pretty fast. Dyó keeps acting like I am someone else when he looks at me. Like he forgot to keep pretending. Sometimes mistake me for you"
"I do not see a resemblance between us."
"Exactly." (Are we sure about that/ooc)
It was a moment of silence before Cain continued, shrugging.
"I do not know what that means. I just know it is annoying."
Haselhurst turns slightly to the side, as though he is thinking through something he does not want Cain to see.
His phone buzzes.
He glances down.
A message from Kondraki.
He does not open it.
He simply locks the screen and slips the phone away.
"Ignoring that on purpose I see."
Cain said glancing at where Haselhurst slipped away his phone. Haselhurst turned to Cain and then responded.
"Yes."
"Sounds irresponsible."
"It it strategic."
Cain shifted a little hearing that word. Haselhurst steps closer, voice lowering again.
"Be careful, 073. We are not certain what the syndicate is planning next."
Cain holds his gaze.
"That part is not new."
"No. But the details are changing."
Haselhurst's tone becomes quieter, more serious than before.
"Whatever happens next, do not be careless."
Cain looks like he wants to argue, but the warning lands too cleanly to dismiss.
"I am not the careless one in this room."
Haselhurst gives a faint, knowing look.
"No. But you are the one they miss."
Cain does not respond to that.
The room stays silent for a moment, both men aware the conversation has shifted into something neither of them can fully control.
(Yes I used Google Translate for the French convo)
