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A person gazes through the split blinds from the comfort of their second-story building window. “The Backstreets… Lots of foul shit goes on here. Daylight robberies, fights, murders, and that’s only mentioning the top of the hypothetical iceberg.” A sigh cuts through the silence of the Office. “But there is a mystery that runs deeper out here, one that has eluded even the sharpest fellow Associates.” The man wearing a green jacket, opened at the middle to reveal a neat black shirt and yellow tie, all brought together by a brown vest, and in the collar of said jacket the Seven Association’s insignia shines subtly in the low light of the office—dramatically turned around from the windows, hands in the coat’s pocket to give himself an air of mystique, before slowly circling the nearby desk where an orderly madness of papers and documents were focused on by lamplight “That’s why, I, Marcus, member of South Section 4—” The door to the office suddenly swings open.
Out comes a whirlwind of a woman, dressed in a similar garb to Marcus here, the only difference being the round glasses framing her round face. “Heya, Marc~!” She chirps, unbotheredly. Goodness, she becomes a wholly different person when she’s on the clock. “Did I interrupt your brooding session, hehe~?” You’d be pressed to find someone else in this wide City they live in with such wide swings in professionalism.
Startled, Marcus yelps and staggers backwards, nearly tripping over his damn desk. The Fixer quickly hurries to fix the pile of papers lest they fall to the floor. “For Wings' sake, Nicole! Knock next time!” The brown-haired man gave her a sharp, pointed glare. “And why did you even come?” He adds, clearly ruffled that the mood he carefully constructed got ruined.
The other Seven member, Nicole, flicked her orange ponytail with a teasing hum. “What? Coffee’s done! Alex made it exactly how you like it~.” She giggles, fluctuating her voice just enough to get under his skin but not too much that he actually gets mad. “You should come help out at the cafe sometimes!” She then added in a lighter tone.
Marcus cleared his throat. “Ah, that. Thank you, but… I have important work to be done.” With a serious look, he leans over the desk and quintuple-checks his research for the n-th time.
His coworker sighs, a slight pout crossing her features. “Gee, you’re still on that?” She says with palpable disappointment. “I’m telling you, nothing is going on at that place. What can you see that our seniors in Sections 2 and 1 cannot? You suggest you’re more keen-eyed than Willard?” She pads closer, elbowing him.
To which the Fixer chuckles nervously, waving his hand dismissively. “O-Of course not…” He trails off. “But… My gut feeling says it’s too good to be true… Tasty sandwiches…. Affordable prices… Multiple locations… No major controversies in this restaurant’s entire history!” Marcus recounts with a hint of paranoia in his voice. “How can you not be suspicious of HamHamPangPang?!”
The room fell silent for a graceful second… before Nicole had to stifle a snicker. “Mhm, sure thing.” She says with a faux-straight face. “You do know you don’t have unlimited free time, hmm? Another normal case and you’ll be back to normal, I say!” The Fixer teases.
Dramatically, Marcus smirks and turns away, adjusting his tie. “Of course. I have accounted for that as well.” Like he was waiting for the moment—since he was— he procures a file from his coat and hands it over to his coworker.
Curiously, she scans it over, and her expression grows more and more deadpan with each line. “You hired yourself…” She almost groaned, giving him a look of incredulous disappointment.
Marcus doesn’t say a thing. He smirks and starts marching proudly towards the door, one hand in his pocket, loosening the tie he just fixed to look cool, and slamming shut the door like he owns the world. Which he didn’t. Nicole has to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes too far back.
—
The hustle and bustle of the Backstreets isn’t anything uncommon. People walking quietly, head held low, speaking in hushed tones, accentuated by the whirr of machinery and appliances from nearby buildings, and even the odd car or two. Marcus was one of these people. His profession made him blend in better than most, even if the Shi were far and above the better option for stealth, anyway.
The Fixer spots his target, focusing his gaze. A quite cheery and bright restaurant front, at least by Backstreet's standards, with an inside that looks presentable at first glance. Everything natural so far, as expected. Marcus wasn’t deterred by such quaint normalcy, by this pocket of reprieve in the Backstreets. He pushes forward.
“Where to begin… Maybe try to enter from the back? Hmm, too obvious. M-” In his ruminations, he bumps into a person. “Hey! Watch where you’re…” But he quiets down on closer look. Red coat, black suit, carmine fedora, and a bayonet slung over his shoulder. No doubt about it, this is a member of the Thumb. Instinctually, Marcus reaches for his rapier.
The two stare off for a moment. And it was the Syndicate member who broke the silence first. “Calm your horses, Fixer. I’m here on my break, not causing any trouble, y’see. What’s your Grade anyway?” The man with a rough voice, probably from smoking, spoke.
Cautiously, Marcus responds. “Grade 5… South Section 4.” He steals his grip on the weapon.
And the Soldato sighs in relief. “Ah, good enough. I don’t have to do anything then. Now.” He claps. “It would be best for both of us if we pretended we just didn’t even meet. ‘Cause my Capo said I get some free time and Wings almighty I am getting that sandwich one way or another.” He pleaded.
But the Fixer raises an eyebrow. “Sandwich… what? Wait—” Marcus unsheathes his rapier and points it towards the Finger member. “You’re going to HamHamPangPang?” He sneers accusatorily.
The poor Soldato raises his arms in surrender. “Uh—I… yes?? Can I not go??” He sounds honestly perplexed. “L-Look, man. I ain’t from the middle, I am not gonna write you in whatever book because you looked at me wrong. Just let me get my damn lunch. Please.”
Marcus doesn’t back down. “A Syndicate member like you…? Don’t make me laugh…” He inches the weapon closer to the man’s throat.
This only serves to further confuse the Syndicate member. “What…? Have you never been there? They allow Fixers and Syndicate guys alike as long as they behave and pay up. Like last month, I am sure I saw a Young Brother of the Middle treat his Little Siblings to some mustard sandwiches.” He recalls, quite fondly, since he also ate some mustard sandwiches that time as well.
Marcus looks with scrutiny at the darker-skinned man before relenting and putting his weapon away. “Of course…” The Fixer mutters, his voice dripping with venom.
Before the Soldato could question why the vendetta against the store, another voice cuts through from further down the path he took. “Yo, Trevon!” The strong, haughty tone came along with an unit of a man, dressed sharply in a tailor-made red suit, an elegant velvet coat slung over his shoulders. His belt was equipped with expensive-looking bullets, and on his hip rested a unique-looking gunblade. “Room for one more~?” He slung his massive arm over Trevon, the Soldato’s shoulder. “Could’va told this Capo of yers that you’re going to HamHam, yanno?” He teased with a smirk, baring a sharper canine in the side of his mouth that didn’t bite down on a thick cigar, wafting smoke through the air.
Marcus stiffens, standing as still as a statue and bowing his head. Trevon is much the same, but he relaxes a moment later. “Capo Lei Heng, sir!” He smiled, careful not to beam too hard. The Fixer could swear he just heard a sitcom cheer the moment Trevon said that name.
Lei Heng’s gaze wanders over to Marcus, eyes him like an interesting piece of trash. “And this one’s bothering ya?” The Capo says disinterestedly, pointing a finger at him.
Trevon was quick to reassure him, however. “O-Oh, no! Not at all. We… were just talking about HamHamPangPang!”
The large man furrowed his brows for a moment before a grin split his face. “Ain’t that so? Welp, it’s always nice to know there are other fans out there… Not sure why y’alls were talking about it outside when the place is right ‘ere, but eh, yung’uns nowadays.” He pats Trevon’s back, which feels more like a shove. “C’mon now, these sandwiches don’t eat themselves.” The Thumb duo started walking away. “And, and good thing for keeping yer head down. I was in a good mood and would’ve haaated to rip out a tongue right now, ya feel me?” Lei Heng leaves Marcus some parting words.
“Don’t say that about yourself, Lei Heng, sir! You’re still in the prime of your age…” Trevon starts a new discussion, his voice fading in the background as they head into the store.
Finally, after the coast is clear, Marcus breathes a heavy sigh of relief. “Holy Wings… Never again…” At least his conundrum is solved—he’s going through the back because no way in HELL he’s walking down the same door as fucking Capo of the Thumb. He takes a moment longer to collect himself before walking to the back door and knocking.
Nothing. Naturally, since this is a busy restaurant. But any slight beckons suspicion in this Fixer. He knocks again, harder this time. Some rummaging could be heard from behind the door. A third time, rattling the door on its hinges. Eventually, someone answers. An older man with blonde, slicked-back hair and a short but well-kept beard, wearing an apron with the restaurant’s logo on it. “How could I help—” But he doesn’t even get a word out.
Because Marcus interrupted him by shoving the contract and his legitimation in the man's face. “Marcus, here with the Seven Association on a contract to investigate the restaurant on suspicion of ‘foul play’. Could you answer me a few questions?” He pushes past him and into the kitchen, welcoming himself in.
The man, disoriented, took a moment to realize the situation. “Oh, of course… Yes, it’s no problem. Come to the employee lounge, I wouldn’t want the smell of food to get in your clothes—” He gets interrupted again,
“I will be staying here as part of my investigation. And where are your manners?” Marcus had already begun snooping around, looking for any sort of secret compartment, and already disturbing the other employees with his presence. The irony is not lost on the man.
He clears his throat. “Yes… I’m Arthur. Now, what can I help you with, Marcus?” Arthur clasps his hands, looking amicable. For the moment.
Marcus turns his head sharply to glare at the employee before resuming his ‘investigation’. “Hmm, yes, where is the Restaurant Manager?” He stiffens briefly since he’s sure he heard Lei Heng’s voice boom through the walls, but he doesn’t get deterred.
Arthur deadpans. “I’m the… Restaurant Manager. It says right here, on the insignia.” He points to his chest, where a brooch is clearly visible, showcasing his position.
The Fixer pauses and straightens up. “Right.” Before turning around and procuring a clipboard from his jacket. “My sources tell me all ingredients are privately sourced from the CEO’s personal production facility, right?” He starts questioning.
Arthur is taken a bit aback by the sudden question. “Uh… Yes? We literally advertise it. Mr Ji-Hoon’s face appears on all of the promotional material.” He shrugs.
Marcus notes down the information with fervor. “Hm. That was a simple question, anyway. Are you aware that the restaurant chain hasn’t had any sort of major controversy since its inception?” He questions sternly.
All the while, other employees are buzzing around, diligently working, sharing sympathy for their Manager. As for him, he blinks slowly. “...Yes? We… take pride in that?” He sounds unsure. “What’s even the point of these—”
“I am asking the questions here, Arthur. If that’s even your real name…” He added that last part, muttered, but not like he couldn’t hear it, and grew even more confused. “And all of the aforementioned above happened without any sponsorship from any Wing or Association.” The employee nodded along, waiting to see where he went with the idea. “Aren’t you… Suspicious of that? In the slightest?” He leans in to whisper conspiratorially.
Arthur recoils in sheer befuddlement. “No?? Why would I be??” His voice pitches up an octave in confusion. “I… what?” He rubs his temples. “So this whole thing is because you don’t trust HamHamPangPang is legit? And yes, you, because I managed to take a glance at the contract in the three seconds you’ve shown it to me.” He crosses his arms.
Marcus pressed his lips into a thin line, trying his hardest to have a perfectly neutral face. “Uh… Nooo… This… is slander! I will tell this to my superior! I—” And now he was the one interrupted, but not by Arthur.
“H’WHAAAAAAAATTTT?!?” A voice roared through the wall, like a tiger intimidating its prey. Both the Fixer and the Manager peek out from the employee door to check out the commotion. The sight is bleak. Lei Heng, biting down on his cigar with an angry expression on his face, just stood up and slammed the table in protest when a poor waitress broke the news to him. “WHADDYA MEAN THERE ARE NO MORE PICKLE SPECIALS?!?!” He slammed onto the table again. The entire restaurant fell silent at the Capo’s fury, all of them fearing the worst.
“W-W-W-W-W-Would you l-l-l-like an O-o-o-olive and P-P-Pepper combo instead…?” She peeked out from behind the notebook she usually used to note down the orders.
A beat. Lei Heng suddenly sinks back into his seat. “Ah, y’all have that instead? Sure, gimmie like… three!” In a snap, the atmosphere in the restaurant resumes as if nothing had just happened. The pretense of an interrogatory mood was all but ruined.
“So…” Arthur smacked his lips. “You’re still not convinced our place is honest?”
Marcus roared. “No! There is simply… no way! There is just no way!” He says categorically, as if daring to get challenged.
“Anything we can do to convince you?” The Manager pleads.
“I-erh?” The Fixer blanks for a few seconds. “N-...No! Since I will take anything you say as purposeful misdirection!” He fires back.
Arthur sighs, rubbing his temples. “Then… What, you’re gonna keep lingering in here until we do something you deem as ‘suspicious’?” He does air quotation marks.
Marcus snapped his fingers in frustration. “Dang it… You’re good at this…”
“I’m… being logical?”
“Shhh! I’m thinking!” Marcus starts pacing around, arms crossed, in deep thought.
Arthur watches him go around with a disinterested look. “If you’re not going to do any serious investigation, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave…”
The Fixer looks distraught at the news. “B-But…” He tries arguing.
“Do you even have any leads?”
Marcus shakes his head.
“Any clues?”
Once more, the head is shaken.
“Anything else other than your hunch?”
More hesitantly this time, he affirms negatively with a shake of the head.
Arthur groans, feeling like he died a little on the inside. “And… you still don’t want to leave?”
And now he nods, the gull of this man.
“And I can’t even physically make you leave… You’re a Fixer, after all…”
…
The silence was… black so awkward.
“I feel… like we got off on the wrong foot here.” Eventually, Marcus picks up the shattered pieces of a conversation and tries again.
“You don’t say.” Arthur deadpans right back.
“... Ahem.” The Fixer bashfully clears his throat. “As I was saying, I don’t want to come here antagonizing.”
“Uh huh.” Arthur says, unfazed.
“...And if I could just have my closure, everything will be fine. Just… one… little… thing…” He lost more and more confidence as he spoke, wilting against the iron wall that is the Manager of this establishment. “Ha… Haha… Hahahaha!” Then, he breaks in a fit of unconfident laughter. “Ha.” Back to silence. More black—wait, no, I did that joke already.
Arthur impatiently taps his foot. Marcus only smiles more strainedly back. “You do know there is a Capo dining here right now, right? If I give him a coupon, he’ll make you into a splatter against the wall.” He threatens.
“Call that more avant-garde than Pointilism!” The Fixer cracks a joke under pressure.
The words are so out of left-field it earns a laugh from the man before him. “Wha— What the hell, man?” He stifles the huffs of humour escaping his mouth. “Now? Out of all places?” Arthur looks at him with astounded incredulity.
Marcus uses the situation to his advantage, straightening up and fixing his tie. “C-Call it my hidden talent!” He nods vehemently.
“Keep it hidden.” Every other employee in the kitchen fell silent in awe and respect.
The retaliation was so brutal that Marcus visibly Staggered, with sound effects and all. “Ow….”
Where am I going with this story? Ah, right! “Point is, we’ve gotten famous Fixers and Syndicate members from all over the City. The Black Silence themselves frequented here. I talk with a Liu Section 2 Director on a first-name basis. We are all that.”
The Fixer slowly recovered, letting the full weight of Arthur’s words settle. Still, there is a defiant fire still burning behind his eyes, even if no counter-argument has yet escaped his mouth.
That is when Arthur got an idea most ingenious! “Say… Have you ever had a sandwich from us?”
The change in topic gave Marcus whiplash. “What…?” After a few more seconds. “No… Why would I willingly do that to myself…” He spat with whatever venom he had left.
Arthur brightened up. “Then, how about I treat you to our speciality? The Ham Sandwich… On the house, too.” The Manager winked.
The Fixer gritted his teeth, clearly divided. The prospect of free food did turn him over, however. “Fine…” With that, Arthur began leading him out of the kitchen and to a table like any other customer. He could spot Lei Heng from here, chatting happily with Trevon, looking so at ease. A part of him felt distressed at the sight.
A few minutes later, Arthur himself comes with a freshly made, warm, delicious, savory Ham Sandwich, holding it reverently in a tray. “Here you go, Marcus. Our cooks poured their all into making this specifically for you.” He stands poised, hands behind his back, waiting for the verdict.
Marcus grabs the food hesitantly. “Because I’ve pissed them off?” He raises an eyebrow.
But the Manager shakes his head. “Because they want to convince you beyond a shadow of a doubt of our legitimacy.” He said with pride.
The Fixer scoffs weakly. Taking in a deep, steadying breath, Marcus opens his mouth… and bites. The world stops. Then, it erupts with colour. A culinary masterpiece just reveals itself with each bite Marcus takes. Calling it delicious is not doing it Justice, otherwise known as YoshihideVismok—
Dude, nobody is going to get that line. Take it out
Shut up man and let me narrate, this is my story.
I’m just warning you bruh.
Yeah, yeah. Thanks anyway, now go now. Shoo.
This is the same man who said the silence was black btw
I SAID GET OUT!
… Is he gone? Thank God. Where was I? Shit, yeah. So, Marcus was eating the Ham Sandwich, literally crying tears of joy at the heavenly taste gracing his taste buds. “It’s… so…” He takes another bite, another fresh wave of tears coming out. “...Good…” He swallows slowly, relishing every second of the experience.
Smugly, Arthur hums. “I don’t want to be that guy, but… I told you so.” And as such, the story of the most suspicious Fixer comes to a close as he becomes enlightened to the truth of the matter. From that day onward, he would come to visit HamHamPang very often, growing very close with Arthur. They often joke about this very day, teasing Marcus mercilessly about it, all in good fun, however.
So, what did we learn today…? That uhh…. “H’well butter my butt and call me a biscuit! The last line is mine, Lei Heng’s!!”