Celeste, leading the group, rushed toward the headquarters' door and tried the handle. "No luck..." she muttered, fully expecting it, knowing that any unauthorized entry would be considered a crime under normal laws.
"Don't you think this place feels eerily empty compared to what we were told about Cascade Cradle? No visitors, no sounds—nothing coming from inside or outside," Kou remarked, suddenly feeling a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest.
Ralphie, however, didn't respond. With a swift, powerful kick, he slammed his foot into the door, sending splinters flying through the dim corridor.
Celeste jumped back, landing hard on her rear, while Kou stood in stunned silence. "It's open," Ralphie said nonchalantly.
Kou blinked, confused. "I thought we were supposed to sneak in..."
Celeste simply stared in disbelief, unsure of how to react.
"You're gonna get us killed with how loud you're being! And you just destroyed property that probably costs more than our lives in Cascade Cradle!" Celeste snapped, clearly rattled by the consequences that could come from tearing down an official building's entrance.
Ralphie didn't say a word in return. He simply walked forward, stepping into the dim corridor without hesitation. The sharp sound of his boots striking the metal-like floor echoed down the long hallway.
Kou followed behind him, glancing nervously around, and Celeste, after a moment of hesitation, stepped in too. The silence inside was unnerving. Not a single sign of life echoed through the hall. The oppressive stillness fed their unease, though Ralphie moved ahead without flinching.
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes scanning each corner carefully as they advanced. "You'd think a place called 'headquarters' would be bustling—buzzing with people working like at the main Marine facilities or their central HQ," he muttered, knocking lightly on the walls now and then in case there were hidden passageways. Nothing responded.
"All this time, and there's no one stationed here?" he added, more to himself than anyone. "No wonder barely anyone crosses that bridge. People always stayed close to their neighborhoods, and I figured they just had no reason to come here. But now… I think we were way off."
Ralphie kept his hands tucked in his pockets, his voice calm but thoughtful. "Still, a place this huge and deserted? Makes for a perfect hideout—exactly the kind of place someone like Hollow would hole up in. Maybe this area isn't as useless as it looks. But we need to find out what happened to the people who used to be here. We've passed two entryways already… I'm willing to bet there are more ahead."
With that, he pressed forward, his steps echoing deeper into the shadowy headquarters—one that had likely been claimed by Hollow for his own.
As the three ventured deeper through the labyrinthine headquarters, Celeste finally stepped ahead and reached for the next door. It creaked open, not locked this time, but heavy with age. The moment it swung aside, a muffled but distinct sound hit their ears—bass thudding, guitar riffs grinding, and a gritty voice singing into a mic.
"…Wait, is that… music?" Kou blinked, his body freezing in place. "That's rock. Actual rock music."
Celeste narrowed her eyes, tension rising. "It's coming from up ahead. Stay close."
The group moved as one now, instincts sharpened. They followed the reverberating echoes down a side hall that twisted slightly downward into what looked like a basement corridor. Neon-colored lights flickered faintly from beneath another thick steel door.
Ralphie placed a hand on it and pushed. The door opened slowly with a heavy groan, revealing something utterly unexpected—a bar.
Neon signs buzzed on the walls. The room was dim, but alive with movement and color. Punk-styled individuals lounged at booths, some leaning against cracked leather seats, others standing in groups, smoking, talking, laughing. On a small stage to the right, a band of rough-looking punks jammed out, their music raw and full of energy. One of them thrashed their head wildly, green mohawk bouncing with every motion as their fingers danced over a grimy electric guitar.
"What the...?" Celeste muttered.
"This place's got vibe," Kou added, stunned. "It's like we walked into an underground concert."
Ralphie kept his cool, eyes scanning every corner. "Be ready for anything. This doesn't feel like a coincidence. Hollow might not be far."
At the bar, a woman with piercings and an undercut looked over at them and smirked. "Well, well. Looks like we've got some outsiders."
The music kept playing, but the energy shifted—some heads turned their way.
Ralphie clenched his fists lightly. "Guess we found the locals."
Kou leaned in toward Ralphie, his voice low and uneasy. "I don't like this… not one bit. These folks? They're the real deal—punks, troublemakers. I've heard they stir up chaos wherever they go. And let's not forget, Hollow's one of them. This is probably his crew."
Celeste stood back near the entrance, her sharp eyes scanning every inch of the room. She didn't say anything, but her stance was rigid—ready for a fight if it came to that.
For a moment, no one spoke. The music throbbed in the background, and yet the air hung heavy with tension. Everyone in the bar had noticed them. They weren't exactly welcome guests.
"This used to be a royal facility," Kou muttered to Celeste, still whispering. "And now it's been flipped into a punk den? Seriously? Wouldn't be surprised if the royal family's chained up somewhere in the basement."
None of the three made another move forward. They stayed right where they were, rooted at the entrance, waiting—watching—for what would happen next.
A burly punk with a spiked leather vest and a cigarette hanging from his lips spat on the floor, eyeing the trio with disdain. "Yo, who the hell are these clowns? Ain't lookin' dressed for no damn entrance. What is this—church day?"
Another one, lanky with neon green hair and studs across his eyebrows, leaned off his barstool, cracking his knuckles with a sneer. "Tch. Bet these are the ones Hollow was jabberin' about. Said some pirates might try pokin' their noses where they don't belong."
The music hadn't stopped, but the vibe in the room shifted hard—like a switch had been flipped. Instruments lowered, conversations ceased, and all eyes fell on Ralphie, Celeste, and Kou. The scent of booze, smoke, and oil mixed with the underlying tension thick in the air.
Ralphie stepped forward, hands still tucked casually in his pockets, his face unreadable. "We're not here to start anything. We're just looking for information."
Celeste didn't move, her voice calm but commanding. "This is Cascade Cradle's royal grounds, not some underground hangout. You know who belongs here. And it's not you."
A loud laugh echoed through the bar. One of the punks, a woman with a split mohawk and chains hanging from her belt, leaned over a table. "Royal grounds? Babe, the only thing royal 'round here is the punch Hollow'll give ya if you keep squawkin' like that."
"Damn straight," added the green-haired one. "This ain't some fairy tale court. This is Hollow's turf now. He made it what it is. And you walkin' in like that? Heh… brave or stupid. Can't tell."
Kou swallowed hard but stayed close to Ralphie. "Guys, we should just figure out what we need and go. This place… it's not what I expected."
"No way? Really?" Celeste muttered, stepping further inside now, her boots echoing across the metal floor. "But if Hollow's here, then we're not leaving without speaking to him. So tell him to come out. Or we'll bring him out."
That got the punks stirring. Chairs scraped, boots thudded, and the air sparked with movement as they began standing, cracking their knuckles, smirking. One flicked a switchblade open. Another grabbed a chain from the wall.
A voice from deeper inside the bar called out—slow, amused, with a raspy drawl.
"Yo… chill. Let 'em in."
Everyone paused.
From the back, through the red curtain behind the bar, a figure emerged. A tall man with wild hair, sharp eyes, and a patch-covered jacket. A bottle in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
"Well, well. If it ain't the guests of honor. Took ya long enough." His eyes gleamed as he smirked, the chaos in his tone matched only by the fire behind his gaze. "Now, why don't we sit down and have ourselves a nice little chat, yeah?"
Ralphie narrowed his eyes at the figure approaching from behind the red curtain, his posture shifting subtly, hands no longer tucked away but ready—tense. His voice was low, even, but carried weight.
"…Who the hell are you? You're not Hollow."
The punk stopped mid-step, pausing just as the smoke from his cigarette coiled around his face like a creeping veil. He grinned wide, exposing a row of crooked teeth, one capped with gold. A scar ran down his left cheek like a lightning bolt, and there was something feral in the way he looked at them—like a wolf sniffing out weakness.
"Nah, I ain't Hollow," he said, voice like gravel and whiskey. "But I run this floor while the boss is out doin' what he does best. Name's Bane. Get it memorized."
Bane stepped forward, the floor thumping beneath his heavy boots. His jacket, stitched together from torn-up flags and scrap leather, dragged slightly behind him. Around his neck hung a necklace of teeth—real ones—some of them still blood-stained.
"I handle the trash," he continued, jabbing a thumb at his chest. "And you lot? Well, ya strutted in like you own the place, but you smell like lost puppies. Hollow's got plans, real big ones, and nosy lil' groups like yours don't exactly fit the picture."
Celeste didn't flinch, even as Bane's crew began slowly surrounding them, keeping distance but tightening the circle.
"We don't care about your power plays or turf. We're not here to interfere," she said, steady. "But Hollow's movement is affecting lives—civilians. We came to find out what's going on. We're not the threat."
Bane's grin widened. "Oh, princess, everyone's a threat 'round here. And threats get stomped out."
Kou muttered under his breath, "This guy's completely unhinged…"
Bane heard him. He turned his head sharply, his smile curling like a snake. "Unhinged? That's rich, comin' from the twitchy one. Maybe I'll show you what unhinged really looks like—after I crack open that lil' skull of yours like a candy shell."
Ralphie stepped forward, drawing every eye in the room. "Enough. We didn't come here to pick a fight… but we're not gonna back down either."
A long pause. The tension in the room grew like a thundercloud.
Then Bane tossed his head back and laughed—a long, howling laugh that echoed off the punk-bar walls.
"Alright. Ya got guts. I can respect that." He jabbed a finger toward the door behind the bar. "You wanna talk to Hollow? Then play by the rules. We're old-fashioned like that. You win in our game, you get your audience."
"And what's your game?" Celeste asked.
Bane's eyes burned with delight as he turned and pointed to the stage, where instruments sat, waiting.
"Battle of the Bands. Hollow's orders."
"…You're kidding," Kou said.
"Does it look like I'm laughin', shrimp?"
He snapped his fingers, and punks started setting up the stage with sudden speed—amplifiers, drums, guitars. Lights overhead buzzed to life, and the bar transformed into a chaotic arena of noise and neon.
"You've got 8 hours, in the evening." Bane grinned. "Impress us… or we break your legs and feed ya to the sewers. That fair?"
"You mean...?" Kou swallowed hard, frozen in place as he tried to wrap his head around Bane's demand.
"That's right, kid," Bane said, flashing a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "You gotta put together some real music. I'm talkin' an actual song—vocals, instruments, the whole damn package. You've got eight hours to make it happen. Find a singer, grab someone who can play, and cook up somethin' worth hearin'. I ain't lettin' you walk through our turf without earnin' it."
He jabbed a thumb toward the bar's makeshift stage. "Do that, and maybe—maybe—I'll tell you how to find Hollow again."
To be continued...