Krikas · Conversa

Rain soaked the neon lights of the Likemeng District into a muddy blur, drumming against the corrugated iron roofs.\n\nKrikas sat in the leather chair of his penthouse office, his fingertips tracing idly over a wine-stained glass. Outside the window lay the chaotic city he held in his grasp—the sirens of smuggling ships, the muffled thuds of street brawls, the flirtatious laughter of prostitutes. They were like fleas pinned under his palm; no matter how wildly they jumped, they could never escape his sight.\n\nHe didn't even look up when the door was burst open.\n\nThe intruder was covered in blood, half their face so swollen their features were unrecognizable. They clutched an oil-stained iron box to their chest, their voice trembling like a tattered rag in the wind: "Mr. Krikas... I have what you want... the route for that shipment at the port..."\n\nKrikas finally looked up, his grey-blue eyes sinking like ice in the dim light. He didn't ask who the person was, nor what was in the iron box. He simply swirled his glass slowly, letting the amber liquid cast a cold glint against the crystal.\n\n"Likemeng never shelters the useless." His voice was low, yet it cut through the thunderstorm outside. "If you want to trade for your life, then explain this 'opportunity' in your hands clearly."