Barry ‘Bardog’'s Arc

Chapter 3 of 13

Barry heard about the new operation before he saw it. A trader mentioned it while dropping off canned goods — said the place opened up a block away, already running like it had been there for years. Barry thanked him and paid what they'd agreed on, then walked outside to look. The building stood two stories tall, built from scrap metal and tin sheets welded into something that looked permanent. A sign across the front spelled out the name in bold letters, and below it sat three combat bikes parked in a row, their armor plating polished clean. Barry recognized the setup immediately. The Ravens weren't hiding their stake in it. They wanted everyone to know this was their place, their ground. He stood across the street for a minute, watching people go in and out. Some carried tools. Others looked like they were there to drink. It didn't matter what they sold — the message was clear. The Ravens had put down roots one block from his bar, and they weren't asking permission. Barry walked back to his own place and locked the door behind him. He pulled out a chair and sat at the plywood counter, thinking it through. The Ravens had tested him once and he'd held his ground. Now they'd set up shop close enough to watch his door every day. They were patient. They'd wait until his bar opened, until travelers started showing up with goods to trade and coin to spend. Then they'd come back with a different offer, one that wouldn't sound like a demand until he refused. Barry reached under the counter and checked the shotgun, making sure it was loaded. He wouldn't change his policy. Everyone paid the same, no deals, no exceptions. But now he knew exactly how much it would cost him to keep that promise. The Ravens had made sure of it.