Criminal Convention.

Inside the dimly lit hallways of an old, decaying hospital, subtle noises of steps can be heard as two men walk.

One of the men, walking behind his so called "friend", is a somewhat slim person, dressing a long sleeved black hooded trench coat, black trousers and leather gloves with silver adornments. The man's most distinguishing feature is his gas mask that's similar to a skull with two filters on each side of his face. The mask completely hides any facial expressions of the man, from him, only the sound of his calm breathing is noticeable.

Walking in front of the man wearing a gas mask, there's another man. He's a little cautious of the one behind him, but he still walks with a certain confidence. He's wearing simple clothes, in fact he's so simple that one could forget his appearance immediately after a conversation.

The one in front opened the double doors in front of him before briefly glancing behind with a smirk. Just as they walked beyond the double doors, thousands of individuals grouped together in an assembly hall came into the men's field of view. The gas mask man looked around, his expressions unreadable.

After smirking, the man in front turned to the other with a smile and spread his arms. "So, what do you think, Samael? Pretty cool right?"

The gas mask user, Samael, turned to the man whose arms are spread and from behind the mask, a muffled yet frigid voice came, and as if it was something unconscious, a hint of kiling intent also followed through. "Ishmael, this is quite impressive. The amount of rats around I mean. I hope that nobody calls the exterminators."

Immediately after hearing that, Ishmael waved his hands. "Don't jinx it, pal. This convent is supported by the Four kingpins of the Undercities, there is no way that the Enforcers will burst through that door. Besides we have multiple measures in place in case something like that happens." He concluded with a nod.

Although he heard him, Samael completely disregarded his words and he looked around for any exits and potential escape routes. "Ishmael, you better be right." The killing intent in his voice grew stronger. "I took a risk by coming here. If something happens I will do what it takes to escape, even if I have to take unethical measures."

This sentence made Ishmael break in cold sweat while chills runned down his spine.

While he is Samael's informant he can't really control him, in fact no one can. The only reason as to why Ishmael gives information to him is because his boss told him to do so. He knows that Samael is a wild card that not even the Kingpins can control, so his only option is to try to lure him out with things that he likes in an vague attempt of getting something out of him, after all, the Kingpins want information over Samael. Information is key when dealing with a mystery card like him.

In case that can't be attained, blackmail material would be something that they need in order to give one of them a way to keep him under control.

Rubbing his own arms, Ishmael trembled a little. "As always you give me the creeps man." Then, with a completely different face, he winked at Samael. "If you took off that mask and smiled a little, maybe you could get some ladies on your dick. "

Shaking his head, Samael shot back. "I didn't come here to have fun. I am here because you vouched that there would be guns and components for my toxins."

While saying that, Samael slowly walked towards Ishmael and stared at the man. Despite being just a few centimeters taller than him, the sheer ominous air surrounding Samael was no joke.

Diverging his attention from Samael, Ishmael pointed at the entire assembly hall. "Look around, my friend, something that isn't missing here are guns. You will probably find more guns than food around here, the toxins though..." Ishmael lowered his voice. "Now that's a different matter."

In response, Samael raised his left hand and from small openings above the leather glove's fingers, 4 retractable needles were extended, being placed a few milimeters away from Ishmael's neck.

"These four little things can inject 5 ounces of my latest toxin under a second." Samael continued with his ice cold voice. "I have not given it a name 'cause I have a little tradition. I only name my toxins after I use them on a test subject. Would you like to be the first one to try it out or will you tell me where your toxins are, dear friend?"

Ishmael immediately backed away while trying to maintain a smiling face. "As always you are ruthless, and here I thought we were friends." He tried to fake a pained face but all he could do was sigh in relief when Samael's needles were retracted. "Look, we cannot exactly show toxins in the main display area, after all, if they break lose we will kill everyone in here. There are major sharks around this place, some of them came from other cities to see this exposition."

Ishmael's comment made Samael look around. There were all types of people in here. From important people such as slave traders, Kingpins, gun dealers, fancy-looking merchants, to the lowest criminals, drug dealers, drug addicteds and even gladiators were walking around. Each one taking care of their own business, each one with their own connections and partners.

Without thinking too much, Samael approached an one-eyed seller and looked at his stand. There were guns as far as his two eyes could see. With precision, Samael didn't waste time and picked up two pistols capable of shooting the highest caliber of the market holding 10 bullets each, a high caliber assault rifle with 50 bullets on the mag and a powerful stockless shotgun capable of blowing holes in several walls just for dessert.

The one-eyed gun dealer looked at him in contempt before saying. "That will be 30 platinum, sir. 5 for the each pistol and 20 for the assault rifle and the shotgun."

Samael nodded and threw him a small bag containing the coins. There was one thing that everybody agreed in the Undercities, people don't use a card to make payments in conventions. That money can be easily tracked down and in the next day you and your seller will have the police at your door.

After making the deal, Samael quickly shoved the guns into his bag while the seller was counting the money. Once the two parties confirmed they got what they wanted, Samael finally turned around and left.

Looking at his actions with interest , Ishmael couldn't help but comment. "You have been accumulating guns for years by now. Why do you need so many guns?"

Samael could easily perceive that he was trying to pry as much information from him as possible. He didn't judge the man, in the Undercities you do what you have to do to survive, he learned that the hard way.

"None of your business, Ishmael. I will wait for the main event to get my toxins, after that I will leave." Samael told him before resting his back against a pillar as Ishmael observed him.

From what Ishmael could tell, Samael was looking at the slaves with no interest.

While having a sex slave is an interesting concept, it is also stupid. An extra slave that cannot fight and is malnourished is just dead weight. Not only that, most of the slaves come with tracking chips installed in their necks meaning that whoever buys them, will walk around with a tracker. If you want a slave you need to have power to either remove the tracker or to simply not care about any enemy threats.

Shrugging, Ishmael responded. "You are right it is none of my business if you buy all the guns in the market... Actually if you want to hoard guns, go wild! However, don't you dare using those guns against the Warlord. There is a fragile peace treaty between the Undercities and Paradise, if you break that treaty..." Ishmael's tone had a subtle change. "There will be no hole for you to hide."

After noticing the subtle change in Ishmael's intonation and hearing his words, Samael's killing intent exploded as he turned to look at him. This sudden explosion in hostility draw the attention of the most sensitive people among the crowd.

"Is that a threat?"

Feeling as if dozens of sharp needles were picking on his skin, Ishmael forced a friendly face as he shook his head. "No, my friend, this is a warning. The Kingpins allowed your existence in the undercities because they don't want to start wars between each other over you. However, don't push your luck."

It is true that the peace between the Undercities and Paradise is fragile and with a wave of the Warlord, thousands of Enforcers will destroy the Undercities, burning everything to the ground. But that matters little to Samael. 'If these rats want to fight over scraps down here then I will let them.' In the end, he has a goal and he will do everything to achieve that goal, even if it means burning the entire city.

Before he could answer a man dressed in a tuxedo walked to the stage and spread his arms in a theatrical way.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to this wonderful event. As member of the Undercities we all know perfectly that some of us here have rivalries and we have distasteful opinions of each other. I will ask you politely to not act on your impulses or... Well I don't need to say the rest do I?..." With a smile he continued.

Everybody here knows how it works. If you crossed one of the Kingpins you can be considered lucky if your body is found along with your family. Then there is the Warlord, even saying his original name is considered taboo like a children's folktale monster. The Kingpins rule the Undercities, a city constructed underground, while the Warlord rules over Paradise and the Undercities too in name. However, he barely enforces his rule, he only moves if magic is used. He is extremely xenophobic against people who use magic considering them to be inferior.

The amount of magic users that were forcefully removed from their families by the hands of the enforcers can number in the hundreds of thousands.

"... As we all know the Warlord hates magic and so does the Council of Warlords that rules the entire nation. The Kingpins don't care about it as long as we produce results. We are all here, because the laws created by the Council of Warlords is pure garbage worse than horse shit. They hide behind their Enforcers and oppress us, but everyone here knows, we are all different. Some of you are assassins for hire, others drug dealers, some are even known terrorists. There is one thing, however, that we all have in common and that is that we are hunted by the law. In the Undercities we are free to do as we wish and nobody will ever take that away from us." As if to accentuate his point, the man in tuxedo waved his hands and used magic in front of everybody.

Fire floated around him while the criminals cheered, this conventions were like free havens to them. They could seek entertainment or re-supply in guns before going on their next mission.

Samael looked at the lightshow with close to no interest, magic for him was nothing more than shit if compared to the toxins he can produce. Magic is extremely expensive to develop, just to develop someone's mana core, one need to dedicate years of their lives emptying their mana core daily or they can use life cristals to enhance their potential.

Only the families under the Warlord or the Warlord himself has the money to do such thing. The Kingpins have a couple of Magicians under them, but only a fraction of them are actually useful in combat.

The loud cheers of the criminals turned Samael's attention to the crowd. The criminals jumping in delight was a disgusting sight to behold.

*Clank*

The lights went out, making everyone confused. However, Samael immediately noticed what was going on... The place was being raided.