Chapter 35: We are Open

Damien lounged in an old rocking chair on the cabin's porch, the tablet balanced on his knee. The soft glow of the screen contrasted sharply with the deep shadows of the surrounding forest.

"What's the deal with this place?" he muttered, scrolling through page after page about the Third Street.

On paper, Third Street was a wasteland in the middle of civilization. The kind of neighborhood where even GPS systems gave up. No jobs, no hope, just block after block of broken dreams and graffiti.

So why was the organization suddenly so interested in this urban disaster zone?

Damien set the tablet down, listening to the chorus of birds and rustling of leaves. The peace of the forest felt a million miles away from the chaos he was used to.

"It doesn't add up," he said to the trees. "What could they possibly want with that dingy place?"

He stood up, stretching, and walked to the edge of the porch. The organization never did anything without a reason. If they were poking around Third Street, something big was going down. But what?

"Midnight!" Damien's voice cut through the stillness of the forest night.

In the blink of an eye, a figure materialized beside him. The guy looked like he'd just stepped off a sports magazine cover – all lean muscle and quiet intensity. 

"You called?" Midnight's voice was low, respectful. His eyes never left Damien's face, waiting for orders.

Damien leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper even though they were miles from anyone. "I need you to unleash the Ravens. Every shadowy corner, every back alley of Third Street – I want eyes on it all. Tell the other crows you are to handle it. No need for everyone to be there."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Midnight's face. This was what he lived for. "Consider it done."

And just like that, he was gone. No dramatic puff of smoke, no rustle of leaves. One second he was there, the next – poof. Some would be left wondering if Midnight had ever really been there at all.

He turned back to the dim of the forest, imagining the chaos about to unfold in Third Street. The Ravens were being let loose, and soon, every secret would be dragged into the light.

"Let the games begin," Damien murmured, settling in for what promised to be a very interesting night.

Damien slipped back into the cabin, his footsteps silent on the worn wooden floor. He paused in front of a seemingly ordinary wall, his fingers finding a hidden switch. With a soft click, a section of the wall swung inward, revealing a secret staircase.

The basement was like something out of a spy movie. Rows of gleaming weapons lined the walls – guns, knives, and things Damien was pretty sure didn't have names in any language. He plucked a sleek pistol from its stand, turning it over in his hands.

"Tsk," he clicked his tongue, spotting a microscopic speck of dust. "Looks like someone's due for a bath."

Setting the gun aside, Damien reached for an ancient-looking rotary phone. It was probably older than he was, but he knew it was the most secure line in a hundred-mile radius.

He dialed a number from memory, waited for the click, then spoke in a voice that would've sent chills down anyone's spine:

"Butcher 42 reporting. Put me through to Master Heihachi. Now."

A voice crackled through the ancient receiver, smooth as silk but sharp as a knife. "Butcher 42, how's the weather outside?"

To anyone else, it might have sounded like small talk. But Damien knew better. This was the dance of secrets, the verbal handshake that separated the in-crowd from the wannabes.

Without missing a beat, he replied, "It's hailing, but the sun's shining brightly." The words felt weird on his tongue, but that was the point. No one in their right mind would ever utter that phrase by accident.

"Good to hear," the voice purred. "Transferring you to Willowbrook's Main Office."

A tinny version of "The Girl from Ipanema" filled Damien's ear. He tapped his foot impatiently, wondering who picked their hold music. Probably the same person who thought secret underground lairs were subtle.

Just when he was about to lose his mind to jazz, a familiar growl rumbled through the line. 

"Heihachi," Damien drawled, his voice dripping with casual disrespect. No 'sir', no 'master' – just a name, tossed out like he was talking to some random dude on the street.

The old man's gravelly chuckle crackled through the line. "Well, well. Butcher 42. They must've caught a whiff of something big to send a hotshot like you to our humble neck of the woods." There was a pause, loaded with tension. "But don't get cocky, kid. This is still our turf."

Damien rolled his eyes. Classic Heihachi, always trying to mark his territory. "Hate to break it to you, old timer, but I don't answer to you. Central office calls the shots for me. You're just a has-been running a backwater outpost."

He could practically hear Heihachi's teeth grinding. "Watch your mouth, boy. You have no idea—"

"No, you have no idea," Damien cut him off. "Face it, Heihachi. You got shipped out here after screwing up one too many times. You're out of the loop, playing sheriff in a town that doesn't even show up on most maps."

"Listen up, kid," Heihachi growled, his patience clearly wearing thin. "You've been ordered to play nice with us. So you'll dance to our tune, or I'll have the Sentinels at Central breathing down your neck faster than you can say 'insubordination.'"

Damien couldn't help but laugh. "Go ahead, tattle to mommy and daddy. We'll see who ends up in the corner." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You don't even realize there's a sleeping monster right under your nose."

"A sleeping what?" For once, the oh-so-mighty leader of the Cleaners sounded genuinely caught off guard. 

"Oh, nothing," Damien replied, voice dripping with fake innocence. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

He could practically hear Heihachi's blood pressure rising through the phone. "Enough of your games, boy! You're here for one reason – find our missing Cleaner. Period. End of story."

"Oh, please," Damien scoffed. "I'm here for a request from the central office, Heihachi. Playing God in this backwater dump is why you'll never make it past Level 5 Cleaner. Pathetic."

"Did you seriously call just to say these to me?" Heihachi's voice crackled with rage.

Damien smirked. "Nah, that's just a bonus. I'm actually calling to let you know I've made contact with our suspects."

"Wait!" Heihachi's tone suddenly shifted from anger to... was that fear? "You can't touch Enigma. Central made that crystal clear."

"Relax, grandpa. I know what I'm doing." Damien's voice dripped with condescension. "Just giving you a heads-up – Operation Nevermore is now live."

Without waiting for a response, Damien hung up. The old rotary phone made a satisfying clunk as he set it down.

…

"We're back!" Edward's voice rang out, practically bouncing off the walls of the tiny convenience store. His face was split into a grin so wide it threatened to crack his face in half.

Takeda couldn't help but chuckle at the kid's enthusiasm. Sure, they'd just spent a weekend in a sweet cabin surrounded by pristine wilderness, but here was Edward, acting like this dingy little shop was Disneyland.

"I take it you missed this place?" Takeda asked, raising an eyebrow.

Edward spun around, his eyes shining. "Missed it? Are you kidding? I love it here!"

He ran his hand lovingly over the chipped counter, inhaling deeply. The mix of stale coffee, day-old hot dogs, and that weird air freshener the owner insisted on using was apparently heaven to Edward.

Mina crossed her arms, eyeing Edward with a mix of confusion and amusement. "Seriously? What's so special about this tiny convenience store that's got you all starry-eyed?"

Edward's grin grew even wider, if that was possible. "It's like home. I feel safe here." He gestured around the store, nearly knocking over a display of chips in his excitement. "Everyone's so nice to me – even the customers!"

Takeda froze, Edward's words hit him. Here was this kid, their newest recruit, feeling more at home in this dingy little shop than... well, probably anywhere else.

For a moment, Takeda's mind drifted to his own son. Same age as Edward, give or take. A pang of longing shot through his chest, sharp and bittersweet.

But then he looked at Edward, practically bouncing with joy over something as simple as being back in the store. And Takeda felt something shift inside him. It wasn't the same as having his own kid around, not by a long shot. But Edward's presence... it was like a tiny oasis in the desert of Takeda's family-starved heart.

He found himself smiling, really smiling, for the first time in ages. "Alright, kiddo," he said, ruffling Edward's hair.

"So, are we open for business today?" Edward asked, practically vibrating with excitement. His eyes were wide, pleading. "Please say yes, please say yes!"

Meanwhile, in the back room, Avery was having the opposite reaction. He slumped against the wall, letting out a dramatic sigh. One more day of vacation – was that too much to ask? His mind drifted to his phone, nestled in his pocket. His virtual farm was probably withering away without him, and he needs to get back to the Third Street ASAP.