The man who came to see Nico introduced himself as Tommy Liu, but everyone in Level 8 knew him as Scar—head enforcer for the Red Zone Collective, the biggest gang operation in Districts 3 through 6.
He walked into Chen's at closing time, two guys flanking him, and sat down at Nico's table uninvited.
"Uncle Nico," Scar said, voice pleasant. "We should talk business."
Kade,standing at the counter, met Nico's eyes. His hand moved subtly toward his jacket where Nico knew he kept an old service pistol.
Nico shook his head slightly. Not yet.
"I don't have business with the Red Zone," Nico said carefully.
"Sure you do. You're running four restaurants, paying medical bills, fixing buildings. All in our territory." Scar smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "That's a lot of money moving around. People notice."
"I'm helping people. That's not business."
"Everything's business in Level 8. You know that." Scar leaned back in his chair, casual. "Look, I respect what you're doing. Really. Free food, healthcare, all that good Uncle Nico shit. Very noble."
"But?"
"But you're operating without protection. That's dangerous. What if something happened to one of your restaurants? Fire, vandalism, supply theft? Would be a shame if all these families lost their free meals because someone—" He shrugged. "—got careless."
There it was. The threat wrapped in concern.
"How much?" Nico asked flatly.
"Ten percent of your operating budget. Weekly." Scar's smile widened. "Very reasonable rate. Plus, we make sure nobody bothers your operations. Win-win."
Nico did the math. His weekly operating budget was around seven hundred thousand credits. Ten percent was seventy thousand. Per week. That was three and a half million a year.
Three and a half million credits just to avoid having his restaurants burned down.
"And if I say no?" Nico asked.
"Then we can't guarantee your safety. Or your employees' safety. Or—" Scar's eyes drifted to Mara, cleaning tables with her two kids doing homework at a back booth. "—the safety of the people who depend on you."
Nico's hands clenched under the table. Kade had moved closer, casual but ready.
"I'll think about it," Nico said.
"Don't think too long. We start billing on Monday." Scar stood. "Good talk, Uncle. Real good work you're doing here. Be a shame if anything interrupted it."
The three men left. When the door closed behind them, Nico let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"You're not paying them," Kade said immediately.
"They'll burn down the restaurants."
"Maybe. Or maybe they're bluffing."
"They threatened Mara's kids, Kade."
"They threatened everyone." Kade sat down across from him. "Listen, kid. You pay them once, you'll pay them forever. And word spreads—other gangs will want their cut too. You'll be bleeding money to five different operations within a month."
"So what do I do?"
"You get your own protection." Kade's voice was matter-of-fact. "You hire security. You make it clear that anyone who fucks with your operation deals with consequences."
"I'm not starting a gang war."
"You already did. The moment you set up shop without asking permission." Kade pulled out his tablet. "I know people. Former military, corporate security, guys who got downsized and need work. We hire ten, maybe twelve, station them at your locations. Anyone tries anything, they respond."
"That's..." Nico tried to find the words. "That's crossing a line."
"What line? You think charity stays peaceful when you're disrupting the whole Level 8 economy? You've already crossed every line that mattered." Kade leaned forward. "Red Zone sees you as competition now. You're feeding their potential recruits, hiring people they'd exploit, giving people options besides joining gangs. Of course they want a cut. And if you don't protect what you built, they'll take it."
Nico looked around Chen's. Saw the clean tables, the kitchen where Jian was finishing prep for tomorrow, the back booth where Mara's kids were packing up their homework. This place was supposed to be safe. Supposed to be simple.
Free food. That's all it was supposed to be.
"Hire your people," Nico said finally. "But tell them—no killing. I'm not running a gang."
"Just a charity with armed security." Kade's smile was grim. "Welcome to Level 8 politics."
Within three days, Kade had assembled a security team. Ten people, all ex-military or corporate security who'd been downsized or blacklisted. Two stationed at each restaurant during operating hours, rotating shifts.
Nico paid them well—five hundred credits per shift, plus meals. Cost him another hundred and fifty thousand per week, but the alternative was watching everything burn.
Word spread fast. Uncle Nico had muscle now.
On Sunday—the day before Red Zone's protection payment was supposed to start—Scar came back. Same two enforcers, same casual walk into Chen's.
But this time, there were two of Kade's guys at the door. Big bastards, former Station Marines, who didn't move aside.
"We're closed," one of them said.
Scar smiled, but it was tighter now. "Just here to talk to Uncle Nico."
"Uncle Nico's busy."
"Tell him we had a deal—"
"We don't have a deal," Nico said, stepping out from the kitchen. Kade was beside him, and somehow just his presence made the air feel dangerous. "I don't pay protection money. And I don't appreciate threats against my people."
Scar's expression hardened. "You're making a mistake."
"Maybe. But it's my mistake to make." Nico kept his voice steady even though his heart was hammering. "You want to start a fight over free food for hungry people? Go ahead. But know that everyone in Level 8 will know the Red Zone tried to shake down the guy feeding their families."
It was a gamble. A huge gamble. Banking on public opinion mattering more than gang muscle.
For a long moment, Scar just stared at him. Then his eyes flicked to Kade—recognized him, maybe, from old military days—then to the two guards, then back to Nico.
"This isn't over," Scar said quietly.
"Yes it is," Kade replied. "Walk away, Tommy. While you still can."
Scar and his enforcers left. The door closed. Nico's legs felt like water.
"Did that just work?" he asked.
"For now," Kade said. "But they'll test you. Probably soon. Be ready."
The test came two days later.
Someone threw a firebomb through the window of the breakfast service restaurant in District Seven. Hit at 0400 hours, before anyone was there. Kade's security team saw it on camera, called fire response, had it contained before major damage.
Message received.
Nico stood in the charred remains of the dining room, looking at melted tables and smoke-stained walls. Thirty thousand credits in damage. Could've been worse—could've been during operating hours with people inside.
Could've been Mara's kids.
"We find who did this?" Nico asked.
"Already know," Kade said. "Red Zone. Low-level guy, probably promised a payout."
"What do we do?"
"We send a message back."
"I said no killing—"
"No killing," Kade agreed. "Just... conversation."
Nico didn't ask what that meant. Probably better not to know.
By that evening, word was around Level 8: the guy who firebombed Uncle Nico's restaurant had been found in a maintenance corridor with both hands broken. Medically treated—Uncle Nico paid his clinic bills, even—but unable to work for months.
And Red Zone didn't try again.
"You're officially a power now," Kade told him that night. "Not just charity. Power. You respond to threats, you protect your territory, you show strength. That's what keeps you alive down here."
Nico looked at his hands. They were shaking. He'd ordered violence. Maybe not directly, but by proxy. Kade's guys had broken someone's hands because Nico wouldn't pay protection money.
The guy had tried to burn down a restaurant. Could've killed people.
But still.
"I don't want to be this," Nico said quietly.
"Too late," Kade replied. "You're Uncle Nico. The King of Eight. And kings have to do ugly things sometimes to protect their people."
Nico poured himself a drink. Thought about using. Thought about how much easier it would be to let the Veil blur the edges of what he was becoming.
Didn't use. Not yet.
But the temptation was there. Growing.
Because Kade was right.
He wasn't just running charity anymore. He was running something else. Something with security teams and territory and violent responses to threats.
Something that looked a lot like power.
And power, Nico was learning, came with costs he hadn't agreed to pay.