Page 7 of Sick Bargain

Regardless of my moral compass, I understand what virtue is. I know goodness when I see it. I know goodness when Iforceit. I used to think the name was a pathetic attempt to keep the letters of the house the same, but over the years since I joined, I’ve come to appreciate the goodness that comes from exchanging one life for another. For taking one life to protect others. That's virtuous.

We aren’t the judge of good and evil, but fuck do we enjoy playing the part.

Leaving the house in the hands of our lower-ranking members, the ten of us walk through the tunnels that connect Vile House to the asylum. It’s an old portion of the sanitorium that got expanded and made into a modern-ish facility that still contains some of the original asylum. The world frowns upon that word, but here in Moros, it’s accepted willingly. Our asylum attracts as many tourists as it does patients.

Our director is a well-known scientist, responsible for creating a lot of the pharmaceuticals used by mental health patients, and now he sits on the asylum’s board of directors. But those who praise and award him don’t know he’s the leader of one of the most notoriously deadly societies in our area of the world.

“Director is going to flip his shit when he hears you made a bargain,” Ghost tells me as we walk. His voice echoes through the tunnel to join the sound of footsteps.

“Likeyou’reflippingyourshit?” I counter.

Ghost snarls at me. “The fuck were you thinking, Krypt?”

I wasn’t. It was an impulse as soon as I saw him. And Ghost is pissed about it.

I’ve been in the Vile House society since I was a teen, but I’ve only been masked as one of the ten for three years. In those three years, I’ve made exactly one bargain. And it was last night. It’s not a requirement of the rank, but most of the others havemade at least one, if not multiple bargains with locals, some outsiders. I typically prefer to keep to the dirty work, keeping Moros protected, and working in the cells with those we bring in.

But making deals with Vile House is a safeguard that Moros knows about. It’s always been a thing, and I think Director will be pleased that I’m doing my part.

Remiel Sauder is my first bargain, and fuck me, I still don’t know what I was thinking.

“I’ll figure it out,” I tell Ghost. His feelings about it mean little to me.

“How?” Menace asks with a laugh. “Once he finds out who you are?—”

“It won’t matter,” I snap at him. “I fucking own him now. It doesn’t matter who I am. His life is mine. He agreed to the bargain.”

“Better get that in blood,” Menace says, grinning at me.

Yeah, I will. And I’ll etch it into his flesh to mark him as mine forever. Even if I eventually free him, he will never be free of my mark on his skin.

“You gonna tell me what the bargain was?” Ghost asks as we fall to the back of the group. He can’t hide his hatred for this situation. Rightfully so, but fuck him.

“Eventually.”

Ghost is someone I can be around without becoming overwhelmed by his energy, so in the most basic sense of the word, he’s my best friend. His feet don’t make a sound as he walks, and his movements are so fluid you’d miss them if you blinked. He’s the same age as I am, and we initiated together when we were both seventeen. It’s hard to believe that was eleven years ago.

When we near the end of the tunnel, everyone straightens up to act their part as soon as we enter the asylum. Without ourmasks, our identities are only known to Director and the other Vile leadership.

We’ve all got a cover story to be at the asylum. Some of us work here, others are technically patients, and some, like Ransom and Facts, are on the board of directors, despite still being in their thirties. I just work in security. Well, I don’t, but that’s my cover story for coming and going from the building. It keeps people from seeing me leave Vile House.

“Have fun tonight, Krypt,” Menace says. Ghost gives me a nod of warning, and with that, we all part ways, spreading into the lower levels of the asylum tunnels to enter the main building from different places.

Before I reach the side exit where my vehicle is parked, Director runs up to stop me.

“You good?” he asks, wearing his lab coat. “Heard you made your first bargain.”

“I’m good. Handled.” I pull my keys from my pocket.

He’s a middle-aged man who treats us all like family, but I’ve known what it’s like to be on the receiving end of his brutality, too. I respect and appreciate him, especially for bringing the ten of us together, but I don’t love him. I don’t love anyone. I’m more likely to obsess.

“Well, I’m here if you need anything,” he says. “We all are. Don’t forget to use us.”

I nod, slipping out the side exit before he can say more.

The sun is setting, giving way to a grey night. Moros is a misty, foggy town where the weather always drizzles and the landscapes are wet and soggy. Forests, bogs, and swamps make up the flatlands, eventually drifting up the slopes of mountains that contain us in a protective bowl. There’s one road in and one road out, and I’ve never understood why tourists don’t see that as ominous. Especially since it’s lined with crows and ravens.

Horror lovers, occultists, history buffs, and those intrigued with the history of mental health and mad scientists flock to town to experience its pull and tour the asylum. We encourage it, luring them in with our strange history and unusual lifestyle, but it’s not always up to them whether they get back out. Crime junkies love Moros for the mystery it is. For such a small, secluded area, there are just as many missing persons cases here as there are in the country’s entirety. The world has tried to solve and fix us, but once they get spooked by being here, they pretty much leave us alone. The feds barely even step foot in Moros anymore. We’re like the Bermuda Triangle—no one looks for the things that go missing here.

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