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*****
"Where's Vander?"
Silco strode up to the store owner with the newly-made Glimmer-enhanced thugs at his side.
The store owner looked awkward. "Vander's drunk. He hasn't woken up yet, otherwise this wouldn't have come to this."
"Drunk?"
Silco's mouth twitched. He hadn't expected it to be for such a thing—he had thought Vander had finally come to his senses.
"Who could've gotten him drunk?"
"Uh… well—"
The store owner stammered, unsure how to explain. He couldn't very well say their boss had lost a drinking match to an eleven-year-old.
It was fine for their own people to laugh it off, but if Silco's rivals got wind of it, it would be a blow to Vander's face—and a stain on his reputation.
At that moment the lead enforcer barked out an order:
"Hand over Chief Grayson and Marcus, drop your weapons, and submit to interrogation—or today will be your last day!"
"We can return Grayson, but you must leave immediately. Otherwise it'll be mutual destruction!"
The store owner shoved blades to the throats of Grayson and Marcus, refusing to be cowed.
Now was not the time to back down—if they froze, things would go badly. But they couldn't actually start a full-scale fight either. The plan was to stall for time until Vander sobered up and could take charge.
When Silco learned the truth, he gestured for his men to take a step back.
If it was all a misunderstanding, there was no need to risk everything. Let them brawl—he could always reap the spoils later.
"Your demands are impossible. I'll say it again: hand over Chief Grayson and Marcus!"
The enforcer waved once, and every Piltover guard hoisted their rifles.
They had no intention of firing—their officers were in enemy hands—but they needed to intimidate. If they could frighten the others into surrendering, they could shoot later if necessary.
The store owner likewise stalled. He had no intention of releasing anyone; he was all bark and no bite—letting the toughs brandish weapons but refusing to strike.
As the three sides faced off, a figure stumbled into the center.
"You came to pick a fight with my brothers, huh? Get lost or I'll carve you up!"
George staggered forward, pretending to be drunk, pointing at the Piltover enforcement officer with exaggerated annoyance.
The officer glanced at the young-looking boy and almost ordered him shoved out, but something about the boy's bearing made him ask instead, "Who's your brother?"
"My brother? Vander—he and I just swore brotherhood over drinks. Even if he didn't drink me under the table, I still took him as my sworn brother. You pick on him, you pick on me!"
George thumped his chest and shouted.
When Vander had been muddled by the drink, he had indeed grabbed George and sworn him as a brother; George had ridden that wave and publicly claimed Vander as kin. It gave him standing to act—an outsider helping out would otherwise be without proper cause.
"Vander—this guy actually lost a drinking match to such a runt. He's really becoming a joke."
Silco, hearing George's boast, nearly laughed out loud. From now on, every time he met Vander he'd use this to needle him and cut him down a peg.
Of course, whether there'd be a "next time" depended on whether Vander lived through this encounter. If Vander wasn't prepared to fight the enforcers, Silco wouldn't intervene—he didn't want to be betrayed again.
Still, he could use this as an opportunity to eliminate Vander altogether. Even with plans shifting, the end result could still work in his favor.
"George, don't go any further—come back!"
Vi finally caught up and saw George in the middle of the standoff. She lunged to pull him back, but no matter how hard she tugged, she couldn't move him.
"George! Vi, both of you over here!"
The store owner called out, hurrying toward them. He couldn't step into the fray himself—if he did, the opposing side would assume war was starting, and then nothing could contain it.
"Ah, so you're Vander's. Looks like you're one of those thieves too. Seize them!"
When George declared himself Vander's brother and the stolen-goods thieves appeared, the enforcer immediately ordered two men forward to grab the children. If they could quickly snatch these two kids, perhaps they could exchange them for Grayson and Marcus.
"Vi, get aside—let your brother handle them!"
As two Piltover guards rushed forward, Vi moved to intercept, but George shoved her toward the store owner, blocking both her and the owner from intervening.
"George!"
Vi, now in the store owner's arms, watched in alarm as the two guards reached for George's arms. Despite his earlier feat of punching a hole in the tavern wall, he was drunk and babbling—calling people his brothers, calling Vi his sister. No one could have expected what came next.
And then everyone froze.
"Smack! Smack!"
Just as the guards' hands reached George, he moved with lightning speed—one sharp slap to each side.
The slaps landed with such force that both guards were flung outward, sent spinning to either side. They didn't die on impact, but they were knocked senseless.
"You've got the nerve to act up in my brother's territory? Come on then—bring it on!"
George sneered arrogantly, curling a hand and beckoning the lead enforcer.
The enforcer's face flushed with fury—thankfully, he still wore his gas mask.
"Four of you—take him down!"
In this tense moment, Piltover's dignity was at stake. Being humiliated by a street kid in the Lanes would be a scandal in the council chamber. The enforcers could not allow it.
"Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!"
Four more slaps rang out. The four guards who had charged were each sent flying, following the earlier two into unconscious heaps.
Those who had intended to rush in—Vi and the toughs—paused, then drew back, raising their weapons and shouting.
"Hahaha—George the mighty!"
"Good on you, George!"
"Show them what the Lanes are about!"
"George, except for Vander, your Brother Leopard will forever be your fan!"
The deputy enforcer was livid; he hadn't expected such strength from a child—four full-grown guards were no match.
But he couldn't order his men to shoot a kid—his humiliation would be complete, and the political fallout unthinkable.
"I'll take on ten!"
After sending four flying, George stuck out all ten fingers in a brazen taunt at the enforcer.
(End of Chapter)