Flashing lights greet the three of them as Cairo, Lance, and Marcel excitedly jump through the sliding doors and into the Arcade. The ringing and tinkling of various machines, with their flamboyant neon lights and action packed videos, fill the entire room with deafening roars.

Cairo gazes with wonder at all the games lined in neat rows. The machines, with their coin slots padlocked, blink haphazardly as they struggle to remain operational. The years of abuse, with little to no maintenance, was finally taking its toll on such a historical site. The Arcade itself was almost deserted, save for a few individuals loitering around the corners known for betting.

“Did you bring money?” Marcel asks almost innocently. The glistening look in the boy’s eyes erupt brightly as he glances left and right animatedly.

Cairo scoffs. Reaching deep down into his pockets, he pulls out a large wad of cash.

“Of course,” Cairo says, “What kind of question is that-”

Cairo didn’t even finish his sentence before Marcel unexpectedly snatches every bill out of his hands and rushes off.

“Man,” Cairo dejectedly comments, “that was most of the money I had on me.”

Lance smiles as he watches Cairo pull out a secret stash his friend had hidden in case of situations similar to this.

“Still amazes me how places like these are still open past curfew,” Lance comments.

Cairo nods.

“Perks of living in the more peaceful side of the city,” Cairo muses, “I hear the East Bank District is getting torn up.”

Lance suddenly goes silent. Curious, Cairo glances at his friend to see the reason for his rather lack of reaction to such a controversial subject. He was surprised to see Lance’s face transformed to such a disgusted look. Shocked, Cairo glances toward the direction his friend was looking at. He notices two individuals loitering around his favorite fighting game, ironic too because it was a horrible game. He didn’t think anyone would come that way which is why he always uses the space to sell his “merchandise.” Just then however, one of the men shifts to the side and Cairo freezes. Samantha was there leaning on the machine.

Cairo had only ever seen Lance lose his emotions during the most trying of events, and as he stares unbelieving at the sight of two figures backing Samantha up into a corner, he could understand why Lance was on the brink of doing so.

“Lance,” Cairo angrily mutters, “Someone’s pushing onto our turf.”

Lance curse.

“Don’t do it,” he warns, “Those bastards are part of the Organization.”

Cairo looks helplessly as Samantha uncomfortably maneuvers her way around the two men closing in on her. He observes as Sam attempts over and over again to brush off the hands rolling up her legs and chest.

“Where’s Marcel?” Cairo asks between the grinding of his teeth.

“Ran off to play mahjong probably,” Lance replies as he clenches his fist to control himself. “Honestly, where is that hotheaded rascal when we need him?”

Suddenly, one of the individual draws a dime bag from his pockets and arrogantly waves it front of Samantha. Cairo gravely watches as Sam struggles with herself for a brief moment, before hesitantly handing the dealer money.

Cairo couldn’t take it. He couldn’t stand the exchange and the shame. Fuck the consequences. With Lance right behind him, Cairo confronts the two individuals.

“Who the fucks are you?” One of them questions.

“Who the fucks are you?” Cairo violently responds, as he pushes him away from Samantha. “To barge into my territory without an invitation, and selling drugs here without first paying me taxes.”

“Cairo stop.” Sam begs.

Cairo ignores her and continues to confront the two.

“I think you owe me an apology. It’s rude to enter somebody’s property without-”

“Cairo?” One of them asks.

Cairo stops mid-sentence as horror slowly dawns on him.

“It is you,” the individual continues, “when was the last time we’ve seen each other, four, no, five years? You still remember me?”

Cairo diverts his gaze from him, as Lance looks confused as to whether he should be threatening or friendly.

“Yeah, I remember you,” Cairo replies slowly. “How you’ve been Parcy?”

Parcy smirks as he stares holes into Cairo.

“Nothing beats freedom,” he responds, “I was enjoying it until this meddlesome brat showed up.”

Chills run up Cairo’s spine when Parcy’s voice suddenly became menacing.

“Where do you get off acting all tough like that?” Parcy continues, as his friend smirks behind him. “I remember when you used to be a dog, always obeying any orders I told you to do.”

Cairo’s body tenses as Parcy leans close to his face.

“Well?” Parcy taunts, “bark you mutt. Lie on the floor and whimper for me like you used to when you were my bitch.”

Cairo swings his fist, but misses as Parcy steps back and avoids the blow. Lance begins to approach the adversaries but is stopped when Parcy’s friend pulls out a switchblade.

“Take Sam and run,” Cairo instructs.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Parcy jeers, “Who do you think you are now? Huh?”

It was almost as if on cue. Both Cairo and Parcy watch incredulously as Marcel suddenly jumps from behind the wall of gaming machines flanking the group and lunges himself at Parcy. While in midair, Marcel unapologetically flings a handful of mahjong tiles at the man.

As Parcy shields his face from the porcelain tiles, Cairo, seeing an opportunity, lands a blow on his face.

“I’m going to carve you up,” Parcy screams.

“Before you do that,” Marcel coldly states as he points his pistol at him, “consider the future mistakes you’ll miss when I put you six feet under.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m feeling a little bit artistic tonight. I suggest you and your friend kick rocks before I decide to paint you all over this wall.”

Parcy glares daggers back at Marcel.

“Do something motherfucker,” Marcel warns one last time, “Please try and do something.”

Cairo nervously watches as Parcy glances at his companion for instructions. To his relief, the companion nods in agreement with the ultimatum.

As the two individuals begin to leave, Parcy stops in front of Cairo and hisses at him.

“You’ll be seeing us real soon.”