The Ceremony

At precisely one minute past noon, the ceremony began. Lined on the open street, row by row, column by column, was every resident on the street decimated by the Blood Red Night.

After a week of recuperations, the street now had enough residents to choose Finger affiliations in formal.

A crowd had formed, consisting of more than one thousand residents.

The Five Fingers of the Backstreets stood at the forefront.

Five voluminous banners were flown into the air, yet only two had representatives beneath them.

The Ring, Middle, and Pinky's representatives were nowhere to be found. Their banners flew about for decoration, reminding the residents of their existence.

The Ring's banner was a medley of multicolored glass shards, cobbled together to create a shattered, disorienting mosaic of glass.

The Middle's banner was a stylized skull, incarved with sickly crimson roses and strung by thick gold manacles. It spewed noxious green smoke from its jaw. As the banner fluttered, the air darkened from the poisonous afterimage.

The Pinky's... banner... was a gratuitous mash of meat and bone, melded together to create a single, unwavering tree of flesh. The sheer brutality of the banner cast a foreboding, bloody atmosphere across the entire ceremony, despite none of their representatives present.

Speaking of representatives, in Asher's vision were the ones from the Index and the Thumb, respectively.

He couldn't decide which one was the worst to stare at.

Underneath the Thumb's banner was the new Capo, Boris.

Sensing Asher's gaze, the boy shot a smirk into the crowd, causing Asher to tear his eyes away.

That wasn't a good idea.

A glassy set of eyes met his.

It was Yan. Her eyes were locked on him since the very beginning, but they did not contain any emotions. Asher held her stare for a brief moment.

Yan flicked her head away from him. The exchange was dull and emotionless, yet filled with an indescribable tension.

Beside him, Asher felt Sophie squeeze his arm in reassurance. He gave her a glance of gratitude before shifting his attention back to the front, where a voice began the ceremony with a clearing of its throat.

Boris cupped his hands to his mouth.

"Alright! I'm sure most of y'all know what has to be done, so let's skip the formalities!"

The newly appointed Capo began his speech.

With a voluminous presenting voice, he attempted to convince the residents to choose the Thumb as their dominating Finger. In a scant few minutes, Boris illustrated the liveliness and glamor of Vivi, using heaps of poetic imagery and emotion driving words.

The boy had natural charisma. A sharkish grin formed on his face as his speech thundered into a crescendo.

Tacitly, he ignored to mention the brawl that ended with the previous Capo's death.

Lost in the heat, some in the crowd shuffled in place, taken by the boy's energy. Soon the shuffling devolved into grins, cheer, and laughter.

Boris paused, taking in a deep breath. He raked his fingers across his hair, tousling it back. The crowd paused with him, mired with anticipation.

"...Well, none of you guys will live to see another Vivi. Unless most of you die, things like that are impossible to come by again. Old traditions." The boy took off his sunglasses, wiping them methodically with a cloth on the inside of his reddish coat.

He glanced down at the dark tint, almost as if he was too embarrassed to meet the crowd's anticipation.

But was there such a tradition in the history of the Thumb?

The residents were not aware of the possibility of such a question. The boy framed the scenario so that such doubts were impossible. The boy framed the scenario so his words were truth.

And thus, a silence fell. The Capo was right. So long as they lived, the lavish party would never grace them again.

The Index representatives stood in silence, their faces passive. Yan, the Tweleven twins, and four other Proselytes were expressionless, as if they couldn't sense the change in atmosphere.

Then Boris split into a grin. With an audible crack, his sunglasses were crushed in his fist.

"So fuck tradition!" His sclera flared, inverting into pitch black. "I'm the Capo now! Vivi will open every week, for anyone who chooses us, the Thumb!"

The silence was cut through as a guttural roar erupted from the crowd.

Among the residents, perhaps only Asher's group was not cheering in full. And even then, Pete and Aiko had wide, silly grins plastered on their faces.

Those fools, couldn't they see the glint in Boris's eyes?

They couldn't.

"Vivi!"

With that final, visceral scream, Boris flung the twisted gold frame in his hand to the ground. The Soldatos surrounding the boy bowed deeply, shouting their praises in perfect sync.

The boy pulled an additional pair of sunglasses from his coat, hiding his blackened scleras with an arrogant smirk lingering on his face.

Swept by emotion, it was nearly ten minutes before the residents could calm their clamour, and twenty more before the whispers that crawled between them finally ceased.

The Index representatives stood underneath their banner, stagnant and lifeless. Throughout the entire speech, not one of them displayed the tiniest bit of emotion.

The Messenger took a single step forward, away from her banner.

Her voice was soft and airy, yet her words were carried across to all the residents in perfect clarity.

"Any resident who wishes to find protection under the Index, raise your hand."

The silence this time was not nearly as coordinated.

Confusion rippled through the crowd. Was something wrong with the Messenger's head?

"Hey, she's not doing a speech?" A woman behind Asher whispered to her husband. The man shook his head, utterly mystified.

Even Boris raised an eyebrow.

The residents glanced around themselves, checking each other's reactions. Everyone had that same look of confusion on their face.

Wasn't this counterproductive, not having a speech?

Apparently, Yan did not agree. She spoke once more, this time with greater authority in her voice.

"The resident who seeks the Index, raise your hand." The Messenger had changed her order to something else.

The Proselytes behind her did not move, speak, or even twitch.

An eternity of silence passed.

Finally, a ratty, feather-haired man's arm rose into the air, a single lighthouse on the shore.

"Hey!"

Instantly, the residents around the man turned on him, incredulous.

"You fuckin' crazy?"

One of them pushed him from behind, sending him sprawling to the ground.

As the feather-haired man scattered to the ground, spittle, trash, and blows landed on his back like droplets of rain.

Who would choose the Index over the Thumb? they thought. Especially after the horrendous difference in speech between the two.

The beating continued, and more and more people joined the brawl. Nails clawed out bits of flesh and skin, only some of them came from the correct target's back.

A frenzy of bloodshed. Asher had wildly underestimated just how hated the Index was.

Yan waited for a moment more. On some unknown cue, she nodded.

The Proselytes rushed forward.

Tweleven was the first to arrive. With a sweep of their legs, the mob was knocked back, scattered into the brick walls.

Three other Proselytes stepped up, creating an impenetrable barrier around the man by using the bodies of others.

The last Proselyte stepped up. In her palm was a syringe of grey sludge.

Behind him, Yan hoisted the man to his feet.

"Will you join us?" She whispered in his ear.

The feather-haired man mumbled beneath his breath, but could not muster the strength to respond. His back dripped with blood, of wounds made from lashes of nails.

Yan nodded to the blonde Proselyte, directing her to inject the syringe into the man's body. The woman pressed down on the plunger.

"-!" The feather-haired man began to convulse.

The wounds snaking his body began to mend themselves.

When he opened his eyes again, his pupils had changed, from hazel brown to royal blue.

"Everything... too bright! It hurts, it hurts!!" Before the man could claw out his eyes, Yan placed a blindfold over his eyelids.

The man caressed his blindfold once. His muscles relaxed.

Words began to whisper in his ear, incomprehensible yet so sweet.

"Welcome to the Index, Thirteen." Yan hoisted the new Proselyte into her arms, appearing under the Index's banner with him in tow.

Outcry arose from the crowd, yet they had no say in such a situation.

Boris glanced at Yan quizzically as she set Thirteen to his feet.

"Directly recruiting Proselytes during the ceremony doesn't seem like..." A hint of unease crept into Boris's voice. The girl was younger than he was, so his wariness wasn't unfounded.

Yan's eyes turned into narrow, cobalt slits.

"Doesn't seem like what? Tradition?" Although her voice was outwardly emotionless, the taunt in her words was impossible to miss.

Boris raised an eyebrow. Such a display was unheard of within the Index, a Finger prided for their utter compliance to the Prescripts.

"No wonder Master Ibzan told me to transfer here." Boris slowly fitted his brass knuckles onto his fingers. "I'll fix that attitude of yours."

In response, Yan tilted her ear toward the sky. Listening to a voice the common life could not hear.

Suddenly, Yan and the Proselytes pivoted on their heels, disappearing into the alleyway. Their banner was left behind.

Boris blinked. A mote of understanding flashed through his eyes as he took off his knuckle dusters.

Perhaps they were following a Prescript.

Well, sucks for them. Boris grinned as he overlooked the sea of residents in front of him. These would all enter the Thumb, regardless of their opinion. The Sottocapo would certainly be pleased with his work.

"Alright, come up to the Soldatos to register your name and apartment number!" Boris called out to the street.

The residents had no choice but to follow, even the ones that originally wanted to join the Index, preferring Prescripts over Tributes. But complaining would only get them killed.

The six Soldatos fanned out, each taking a column of over a hundred people. Tablets and cameras were taken from their coats.

Next was the registration process.

Each resident stepped up, reporting their building, room number, and name. A picture was taken of their appearance. The process went smoothly, and all the residents of the street were processed in less than an hour, a shocking pace considering the logistics of the situation.

Asher wondered how the Thumb could be so sure that there wouldn't be cases of fraud, but apparently they were confident enough.

Asher's group was last.

As he approached, Boris broke into a wide grin. He took a nearby Soldato's tablet and register device, placing his body in front of Asher's group.

"It's our local heroes, Asher and Sophie!"

Asher acknowledged Boris's presence, but did not take the boy's outstretched hand.

"Let's get this over with." Asher's voice was cautious and guarded.

Boris scoffed, a hint of a smirk remaining on his face.

"But of course. However, let's begin with an appetizer, shall we?"

Appeti-?

"-!" Asher grunted as a blow smashed into his arm, sending him tumbling into the wall. Sophie snapped her spine back, narrowly dodging a lariat to her neck.

Four Stray Dogs emerged from the alleyways, joining Gyeong-mi and Dino in the open. The tattoos snaking their arms glowed molten red.

The air sizzled and distorted with heat.

Asher leapt to his feet, swearing under his breath. Once more, his arm hung limply from his shoulders.

"Dammit, not again..." On the same arm, too?

He checked his forearm. An outline of five thick rings were pressed onto the side of his rapidly swelling flesh.

Yet, the pain he expected was only a dull, thin ache, hardly what he expected from such a visually stunning wound. The increased Temperance from the Room did him well.

A quick flex of his fingers showed him that the injury wasn't as severe as from the fight in the Room.

Suddenly, his eyes sharpened. This wasn't the room; there were people here that could die if he wasn't careful.

Mei.

"Mangchi! Protect Mei and run!"

The three Fixers took out their weapons, forming a circle around the woman.

However, the Stray Dogs ignored them. Instead, they began to stalk around Asher and Sophie. Gyeong-mi's obsidian rings clashed with sparks as they collided near the center of his chest.

Ten, twenty, hundreds of phone cameras pointed at them. Recording fights was a resident's favorite pastime, it seemed.

Asher could already imagine the title of the video. 'Capo Killer Kills Again!' or something like that. Not to brag, but Asher felt confident. The numbness in his arm had already faded away, leaving only a hideous purple bruise. It wasn't broken, and that was key.

No more words were exchanged.

Sophie readied her stance, shooting forward anyone else could react.

Asher flipped open his cherry blossom fan, pink smoke trailing from his lips.

Dino, Zulu, and the other Stray Dogs glowed with heat, their steps forward cracking the pavement.

And beneath Boris's sunglasses, overlooking all of this, the whites of the Capo's eyes were pitch black with glee.