Kou glanced up at Ralphie, frustration clear in his tone. "Nice going. We're supposed to whip up real music, and fast. So tell me, genius—where d'you plan on finding a band in eight hours, Mr. Kick-Down-the-Door?"
Ralphie let out a breath and rubbed the back of his head, clearly thinking. "Well… we do have a musician on the crew. Aurora knows how to compose music, and she's good with instruments. She's somewhere on the island—we could bring her in."
Kou raised a brow, unimpressed. "You serious? Yeah, sure, Aurora knows her way around music, but this isn't a concert hall. None of us can sing, let alone play something rowdy enough for a punk crowd. Nathaniel's got a violin, but that's not exactly the kind of instrument that gets these maniacs headbanging."
He folded his arms, glancing toward the noisy bar full of spiked jackets and battle scars. "We need more than just talent. We need attitude. And loud as hell."
"There's no need to match their exact style," Ralphie replied calmly. "They just want a good track—something that hits, even if it's totally different from their usual sound. If Aurora can create the right vibe, whether it's hard-hitting or something more chill, I bet they'll respect it."
Celeste paused, arms crossed in thought. "The real question is—can she play and sing at the same time? We could always pre-record the instrumental. That way, she can focus on singing live. But the vocals? Those need to be real."
Several feet away, a figure emerged from the shadows, striding confidently toward the headquarters. Like the others inside, he wore the same punk-inspired gear—ripped sleeves, metal chains, and heavy boots clanking against the ground with each step.
His eyes locked onto the trio with a sharp, unwelcoming glare, arms hanging loosely at his sides, exuding a dangerous energy.
"The hell's goin' on here?" he barked, his voice rough and commanding. "Buncha clueless drifters hangin' 'round our turf? Scram, before I make ya."
He swung his arm wide with a dramatic gesture, halting just in front of them, his stance daring them to make a move.
Ralphie, keeping his cool and standing a few feet behind Kou and Celeste, watched the guy with a careful eye. "He might be useful," he muttered, tone low but thoughtful.
"Pardon us," Ralphie said coolly, stepping forward just enough to show he wasn't intimidated. "We're looking for Hollow. We believe he might have information we need… maybe even about a few prisoners." His words were careful, deliberately vague—he wasn't about to tip their hand too early.
The punk's expression twisted into a snarl, his voice rising with aggression. "Tch—do you even know who you're talkin' to, pretty boy? Hollow's way outta your damn league, and I sure as hell ain't spillin' a thing about him!" His stance grew more hostile, clearly trying to rattle them into backing off.
"What's with that shaky confidence?" Ralphie asked, his tone calm but edged. "You clearly know something. Hollow showed up on his own yesterday—talked to us directly. So how about you make this easier and just tell us where to find him." His foot tapped rhythmically against the floor, subtle, but it signaled he was ready to throw hands if it came to that.
"Yeah right! Like I'd believe a buncha slackers like you got a face-to-face with Hollow!" the punk snapped, rage rising fast. "Now get the hell outta here before I turn you into a soccer ball!"
Celeste noticed his shifting posture and tightened fists. She could tell he was seconds away from swinging. Still, she didn't interfere—this wasn't her moment to jump in.
Ralphie exhaled slowly, letting the cigarette drop from his lips. He crushed it beneath his boot and stepped forward, locking eyes with the punk. "So this is it? You just wanna brawl? Fine." His voice dipped lower. "You don't wanna talk, then we'll do it your way. I'll keep it fair, scout's honor."
"You're a real piece of work," the punk growled, reaching behind him and slipping on a pair of steel knuckles, one on each hand. "I'm gonna beat you so bad, they'll carve my name on the headstone next to your busted face!"
Ralphie watched the punk wordlessly, eyes steady as the guy suddenly charged like a mad dog. The punk's expression twisted with rage, arms swinging low with steel knuckles ready to strike. As he closed the gap, he lunged with a wild punch—only for Ralphie to lift his knee, now reinforced with steel. The blow clanged loudly as metal met metal, the impact echoing through the corridor.
Using the momentum, Ralphie retracted his leg and drove it forward in a powerful arc, slamming his foot square into the punk's gut. The force sent the man stumbling backward, doubling over as he spat a mouthful of saliva from the hit.
Ralphie remained balanced on one leg, calm and cold. "That was a light one," he said, voice low. "I can kick a hell of a lot harder."
The punk's eyes widened in alarm, but fury quickly took over. "You think I'm gonna let that slide? Hell no!" he roared. With a furious scream, he punched the ground. His steel knuckles smashed into the concrete, shattering it and sending chunks of rock flying at Ralphie like shrapnel.
Ralphie stood unmoved as the chunks of concrete hurtled his way. With a quick hop and a spin, he flipped backward, letting the debris slam into the ground where he once stood. As dust burst into the air, he dashed forward through the smoke, his steps light and surgical.
The punk barely had time to react before Ralphie dipped low and swept his leg like a slicing blade, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing to the ground with a solid thud.
"You still breathing?" Ralphie asked calmly, resting his foot on the punk's shoulder. "Then let's talk. Where's Hollow?"
But the punk let out a wheeze, then a defiant bark of laughter as he rolled aside, pushing himself up with a growl. "You think a little trip's gonna get me talkin'? Screw that! You ain't gettin' a damn word outta me!"
He surged forward again, faster this time, rage boiling in his eyes. He threw a flurry of wild punches, his steel knuckles flashing. Ralphie ducked and swayed with controlled ease, his hands still tucked loosely in his jacket pockets. He stepped in, slammed his knee into the punk's ribs, then spun with a rising heel that clipped the side of the punk's head and sent him tumbling across the floor.
"You're pretty loyal, huh?" Ralphie muttered. "But loyalty won't win you this fight."
The punk groaned, spit blood, and still pushed himself up. "Then let's see you actually fight, leg-boy! I don't care if you kick like a freight train—I'm not snitchin'!"
Ralphie sighed and launched into a sprint. With a quick feint left, he vaulted up and twisted mid-air, his leg swinging in a sharp arc and slamming into the punk's forearm as he tried to guard. The impact cracked bone and sent the punk spiraling back, crashing through a row of chairs in the hallway.
Still, he rose. Bruised. Bloody. Grinning through broken teeth.
"You're... gonna have to kill me... if you wanna find Hollow."
Ralphie landed silently, staring coldly. "I'm not here to kill you. Just soften you up enough so someone else makes the call."
The punk rushed in one more time, desperation in his charge. But Ralphie launched forward, springing up with both feet and slamming a powerful double kick into the punk's chest. The blow sent him hurtling back into the wall, cracking it on impact. He slumped down, gasping for breath, unable to move.
Celeste and Kou approached from behind, Kou eyeing the twitching punk with wide eyes. "And... he still didn't talk?"
"Stubborn little freak," Ralphie muttered. "But I got a feeling he isn't the only one around here. One of these punks'll slip. Let's just keep moving."
Celeste nodded. "Let's go before his friends show up."
And they stepped deeper into Hollow's twisted sanctuary, the echoes of boots and pain fading behind them.
As they moved past the unconscious punk, Ralphie slowed to a halt. His sharp eyes swept over the guy, who was still groaning against the wall with one arm limp at his side and the other twitching from nerve shock.
"Hold up," Ralphie muttered, turning back around. "Punks like this? They run their mouths too much, but they usually carry something they aren't supposed to."
He walked up to the battered body and crouched with ease, using his foot to tap the punk's side and roll him slightly. No response. Just a pained grunt.
Using only his legs, Ralphie pressed the toe of his shoe against the guy's jacket flap and flipped it open, revealing a chain-linked patchwork of inside pockets. "Bingo," he muttered.
He nudged one flap open and saw a strange folded paper, half-singed at the corner. Kou leaned closer, squinting. "What's that?"
Ralphie used the side of his boot to lift the paper up and tilt it enough for Kou to snatch it.
Kou unfolded it quickly, scanning the page. His eyes widened. "This is a layout… a sketch of the base. It's not complete, but it shows a sealed corridor labeled 'Back Hall—Restricted.' There's something behind it."
"Could be where Hollow's hiding," Celeste murmured, peering over his shoulder.
Ralphie stood back up with a click of his boot heels. "Guy might not have cracked, but his pocket did."
He looked down at the punk one last time, watching the bruised man slip into unconsciousness with a slow exhale. Then he turned away.
"We follow the map," Ralphie said simply. "Stay sharp. No telling how many more of these freaks are posted along the way."
They walked off into the dim corridor, stepping over loose debris, their footsteps echoing deeper into enemy territory.
To be continued...