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KILLER ON THE ROAD. 

KETTERDAM WAS A CITY of gray. Grayed suits, grayed men, grayed moralities, grayed cats, and grayed skies. It was a maze of streets within streets, loud blaring noises from the arrival of ships in harbors, houses upon houses, crammed and congested and dead from within. 

The Barrel was a different place altogether—an entire city of its own. You either get up and out, clawing your way to the top or you live in the gutters. There was no middle path, only forward and upward or no path at all. To survive in the Barrel, you had to be someone.

Claudius' feet scuffled roughly against the pitted cobblestones. She was running and weaving through colorful men, taverns, and pleasure houses— down and deeper into the heart of the Barrel. The man was not far behind. She could not see where he was, and that terrified her.

Claudius Verztig was, to put it simply, in deep shit.

She turned into an alley, barely a few feet wide. One flickering lamp lit up the entire path. She pressed herself into the walls, shoulders tensed, heart racing. It was a strenuous task to remain so still; her ankle was twisted at an odd angle and only the Saints knew how much longer she could carry on like this— half-starved, thirsty, wounded. She let herself relax for a second.

It was a mistake.

Like a viper, the blow was quick and painful and so sudden that the air was knocked out of her lungs. A hand slapped her back with so much force that Claudius gasped, stumbling into the jagged bricks of a building. It smelled like rot. 

"Five hundred," she breathed, swiping at her nose. It came away bloody. "I'll give you five hundred and this never happened."

His voice was like gravel. "I wanted the bloody job done, Verztig."

"I couldn't have," spat Claudius. "You lined me up for death."

"You picked a fight with Rollins," she felt him step closer, his stench of alcohol and soot making her skin prickle with disgust, "And you not only failed, you ratted us out."

Claudius chuckled, her throat dry. "I know better than to pick a fight with Rollins. I got the bloody job done," she pulled out a thick stack of kruge from her jacket's pocket. "And I'm keeping it." 

Another kick and she was flat against the wall, her lip split. 

 She tried grasping at the bricks of a building for support, but then she was being pulled by her collar till the man's nails dug into her shoulders, so sharp and burning that she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. His next punch came as a surprise, her head snapping to the side, blood trickling down her chin.

And then she'd had enough.

Claudius, with whatever strength she had left, swung her fist straight into the man's face. One hand clutching her stomach, she drove her knee into his groin, and he doubled over, groaning. She staggered forward with the momentum, wiping her bloody mouth with the back of her hand. 

Pain, she thought, as she lifted her leg to kick him, is invigorating. 

⁜

 HOPE WAS A PRETENTIOUS little thing. One moment it was there— and then, it was just a carapace, a veil put in place to hide the truth. As gaudy as the people of Ketterdam may be, hoping was interdictory in the unsaid truth of survival. Desires had a price, and if you're worth it— you'll fight for it.

Ever since Claudius was a child, she'd been pushed into the front lines, as a phantasm, a fire to attract moths, a mirage. 

( Mirage ): A THREE-STEP JOURNEY:

A hope of something existing.

Following those foolish hopes. 

Coming out empty-handed and weary.

 It was an endless, tiresome cycle, but again, the unsaid truth of Ketterdam: kill or be killed. 

Hoping, hope, hopes— it was degenerative. Claudius had no time for it.

Her abode did not have much— an office, followed by a tiny bedroom. In East Stave, it was probably the most unattractive settlement, secluded into one corner with only one visible entrance and exit. There were no windows, no boards and no banners. It was where the first breakout of Queen Lady's Plague happened. The establishment; previously a warehouse, was now abandoned, quarantined, and marked as 'inhabitable' in case there was still some residue of the virus.

It had a bed, a table and a good enough interior. It became Claudius' home.

Claudius was in her bedroom, tending to her wounds when the doorbell rang with a shrill sound. She didn't bother to answer. Her client could show themselves in. 

There was a creak— heavy footsteps, an uneven gait. Slow. 

Slowly, cautiously, she unsheathed the knife from her boots. And then she was out, knife against the man's neck, his back against the wall. The candle flickered dimly in the unlit room. 

He took a moment to respond. "Is this how you treat all your customers?"

"You can't blame me for being reasonably prudent," Claudius stepped back, flicking her knife below her sleeves. "Elzinger."

He spread his arms wide, smiling a crooked grin. "Lodie. Good to see you're still as beautiful as ever."

"What do you want?" She was behind her desk now, seated in a chair. It was easily past midnight, but she could hear the cheers from outside all the way here.

"I have a job offer."

Claudius leaned forward, face resting on her palm. "What, your spiders ain't enough for this shit?"

"Na, Geels has been having a little problem with a barrel rat. Wants him out of the business as soon as possible."

The Black Tips was a smaller operation as compared to most other gangs. A rising star, some may say. Claudius believed they were rising straight into the sewage canals of Ketterdam.

"We've already got a double agent," continued Elzinger. "A week from now, and the kid will be off the field for as long as the Saints stay dead."

Claudius leaned back, tipping her head back against the wall behind her. She took a breath, a ringing sting traveling down her ribs. "And pray tell, Elzinger, who's this barrel rat we're talking about?"

He flicked her a frayed picture; an old cutout from a poster. "Kaz Brekker. Lieutenant of the Dregs. He runs the show."

The picture was faded and worn, but the distinct features which were of importance to Claudius were well recognizable.  A sharp face. Scar over the left eyebrow. Ruffled, dark hair.

"One of Haskell's," hummed Claudius, flipping the picture over. "He's gonna get me good money."

"Heard of him?"

"By name," she laughed. The sound was hoarse, deep, and scratchy. Saints, she needed a glass of water. "Bastard of the Barrel, eh?"

It was an ostentatious title, but reputation was all that mattered in Ketterdam. Lies spread faster than the truth. And may the Saints bless Kaz Brekker, because the gods won't go easy on him if even a quarter of whatever the stories told about him was in line with the truth.

"An arrogant, pretentious son of a bitch, that's what he is."

Claudius smiled. "Careful there. He has ears, Elzinger," she held the photo over the candle flame. "I won't need it. Five thousand kruge."

The flames seemed famished as she watched them swallow the photo in mere seconds. Sometimes it made Claudius envious that Infernis could do this with their bare hands. There was a different kind of satisfaction in wielding so much power— it made Claudius hungry to even think about the heights she could achieve.

Elzinger's eyes narrowed. "Three thousand and no more."

She looked up at the man. Even though he was easily double her height and built like a wide wall of distorted stone, her eyes were leveled with his. She felt the blade of her knife resting against her wrists, the cool metal an unpleasant reminder of who she was. Where she once was.

"Take it or leave it," said Claudius, her voice neutral. "Go find another spider. I get hundreds of offers a day. Who's to say I won't get a better one tonight?"

"Four thousand."

"No," she said and steepled her fingers. "Five thousand kruge. I'll have everything about him in a week. I take half of the payment as advance." 

"Take the damn deal," he growled, leaning forward to pull her by her collar. She let him. "It won't end well otherwise, Verztig."

It all took a second. The knife was pressed into Elzinger's neck, again.

"Give me five thousand kruge," she snarled, drawing a line across his neck with her knife. He let out a small sound, eyes narrowed into slits. "Or I'll tell Brekker exactly what your boss is trying to do."

Claudius let him go, pushing him back. Elzinger grunted, placing a stack of kruge on her table. "I was told to bargain."

The knife was back in her boots. "Show yourself out."

Elzinger didn't need to be told twice.

⁜

( a/n ⸻ the game's afoot :) if you can guess which song killer on the road is from i love you. )