Page 83 of Babalon

Looking over him, I notice a pencil thin mustache and a few spry hairs trying to take over his otherwise baby face. Hair buzzed down to the scalp with fresh lightning bolt tattoos sitting over his Adam’s apple.

Poor placement if you ask me.

The two guys to my right, opposite of Pipsqueak, I decide to call them One and Two; they don’t look important enough to hold names since I can’t see any markings on their razor burned necks.

“I asked you a question, boy, you ought to answer.”

“I would apologize but I don’t care what you asked. You must be the main man, am I right?” I aim at the one with his arms crossed and an amused smirk on his face.

My cold grey eyes meet the one standing behind Pipsqueak. He has dark hair, but his eyes are an amber color that shows just how far down in the ranks of the AB he sits. They may let any white man in nowadays but ranking officials, from what I have learned, fit the profile of white, blond, and blue eyed.

The ‘perfect’ race.

“That’s me, name’s Nathan.” He rattles off, shoving his hands into the front of his pockets like he isn’t standing in front of a slice of true evil. “You? Got a name?”

“Lucien.” I reply swiftly, eyes flicking left and right to get a look at all the men. I don’t fit their requirements, nor do I want to, I’m just curious about the odd cooperation between their faction and the others.

“Care to discuss what was going on with the kinfolk you were just talking to?”

“What are you a fucking guard?”

“Hardly, obviously. I’m dressed just as ridiculously as you are. Whatever is going on, I want in on it.”

Just going to set that hook and see if it works.

“You’re not initiated anywhere so you won’t find out shit. Get lost, punk,” Pipsqueak chimes in.

“I didn’t ask you, I asked Nathan.”

Digging into my pocket, I pull out the pack of cigarettes and offered one to the larger man, hoping he’s a tad smarter than the rest of the goons standing around.

“I don’t smoke, but if you need to know, there’s a shift in power…” Nathan starts, One and Two huff to themselves.

“We have new leadership taking hold and want to assure the current agreements stay in place.”

“Care to share what those agreements are?”

He hesitates for a moment, where I take it upon myself to put another cigarette between my lips and light up. He may not smoke, but I’m going to polish off this entire pack before tomorrow afternoon.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Make it my business” I snort. “Or I can make shit very bad for the four of you.”

“Is that a fucking threat?!” Pipsqueak shouts, moving to put himself between me and Nate even more so.

“What? Me threaten you? I’d never—” I coiled my arm back and punch the kid right in the lightning bolt tattoos.

Told you, poor placement.

When he drops down to his knees, hands wrapping around the front of his neck to claw at his crushed windpipe, I pin the cigarette between my teeth and reached for him.

Both hands curl on his ears, nails digging into the flesh just before I yank and tare the protrusions from the sides of his head. They gave me a little bit of a problem at first, but within a couple of minutes, he is bleeding from both sides and screaming for pain relief.

Standing back up, I hand One and Two each an ear then grab my cigarette and pull it from my mouth, letting the smoke bellow out into the air.

“He doesn’t listen very well, consider this my show of good faith.”

Pipsqueak roll around, whining—the awful noise grating my nerves. If he continues, I’ll crush his voice box next.

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