Copy & Paste Power in Modern World

Gonda sat at the head of a large round table.

Heavy chairs filled the circle around him, each occupied by a different gang leader from the district. Men stood behind every chair, arms crossed or hands hidden in coats, making it obvious that nobody had come here alone. Behind Gonda stood Bruno and another man, both silent.

The room felt tight despite its size.

No one trusted anyone there.

Gonda exhaled slowly and looked around the table.

"Tell me something honestly," he said. "Is it true that an international organization is trying to plant itself in our area?" 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

What surprised him was not the silence.

It was the lack of surprise on their faces.

That alone told him too much already.

Across from him sat an older man with gray hair combed straight back and deep lines cut into his face. His name was Havel, and unlike most of the others, he did not waste words unless he had decided those words were worth using. He had built his reputation by lasting longer than men who were stronger, louder, and greedier than him.

"You heard right," Havel said. "One gang from the outer blocks is already gone. Wiped out. They stood in the way and refused to let those people move in. That was enough."

Murmurs spread around the table.

A broad-shouldered leader on Havel’s left muttered a curse under his breath. Another started tapping two fingers against the armrest in restless. No one sounded shocked. They sounded irritated that someone else had confirmed what they already feared.

Before Gonda could respond, another leader leaned forward with a grin that never looked trustworthy. Varek was younger than Havel, louder than everyone else, and ambitious enough to smell profit before danger.

"At first I wanted to find their people and cut them down myself," Varek said. "But after what I’ve heard, it seems they’ve got real power. So I’ve changed my mind. If they come to me, I’ll join them instead."

That exploded the room.

Several men cursed at once.

One called him a traitor.

Another asked if he had gone mad.

A third slammed his palm against the table and said Varek should be killed before he could sell them out.

Varek rose from his chair so suddenly it scraped hard across the floor. Then he slammed a fist onto the table.

"What do you want me to do? Die like the fools who blocked them?" he barked. "I’m not an idiot. I know how I survived this long, and you know it too. Don’t act righteous now. Half of you are angry only because you want the same opportunity."

That shut several mouths.

Near Havel, a woman in a dark coat tilted her head slightly and let out a breath. Her name was Mira. She had spoken barely three times since sitting down, but every time she did, the table listened.

"He’s disgusting," she said calmly, "but he’s not entirely wrong."

The table went quieter after that.

Gonda’s eyes moved from one face to another.

Fear.

He could read all three around the table now.

No one here cared about loyalty as much as they cared about surviving the shift in power that might be coming.

Then he pushed his chair back and stood.

That movement alone made several eyes snap toward him.

He turned and started walking away from the meeting.

Behind him, Varek called out, "Gonda, then what do you think? What should all of us do?"

Gonda stopped for a few seconds with his back still turned.

Then he said in a low voice, "I don’t know yet."

After that, he walked out.

Bruno followed immediately.

A short while later, he was sitting in the car beside Gonda.

His injured hand was folded tightly against his lap while the fingers of his other hand pressed against the bandaged space where two fingers used to be. Even now, the pain still pulsed there in ugly waves. Each time it rose, the same memory followed it: the table edge, the forced hand, the flash of the blade, the scream he had not been able to stop.

Before that day, Bruno had feared Gonda.

Now something else had started growing beside that fear.

Hatred.

Bruno needed to find him.

He needed him before Gonda did.

Because once a man like Gonda stopped seeing use in someone, there was only one direction left.

Bruno knew that now more clearly than ever. The missing fingers on his hand had become a lesson he could feel every second he stayed awake.

Gonda did not look at him as he spoke.

"We need to find that old man quickly," he said.

Bruno drew in a breath and answered carefully. "I’m trying. I had the numbers checked, but they were all random. I don’t think we can trace them easily."

Gonda looked toward the front seat. "Did you hand those numbers to our police contact?"

The man in front nodded at once. Toma had been driving for most of the night and now looked just as tense as everyone else.

"Yes, Boss," he said. "I passed everything to him. He said he’ll dig up whatever he can and send us the details as soon as he finds them."

Gonda rubbed one hand across his head and stared out the windshield.

"We have to find them before the others do," he said. "If another gang reaches them first, they’ll gain the opening we should have taken."

Bruno turned his face toward the window.

God damn you, old man.

I’ll find you no matter what.

I need to.

Because if Gonda reaches you before I do, then sooner or later he’ll really kill me.