2 hours earlier

"I don't fucking like doing runs like this without Chase...but he's got plenty of problems without worrying about my ass." Shawn muttered to himself as he drove to make the trade for guns, one hand resting on the pistol holstered at his side he carried for defense as he parked on the side of the road and hopped out.

Since it was close to evening, the streets were mostly empty with only a couple policemen on patrol and some people out taking walks.

Shawn looked around cautiously before pulling a black bag out of the back of the car and walking into a nearby alleyway.

A man dressed in a black suit with glasses, black hair, and a broad smile that Shawn didn't trust was waiting for him, a nearly identical black bag in his hand. "Hello, Shawn Flynn I presume?"

"Guessing you're that Bim Trimmer guy the Ipliers sent?" Shawn countered gruffly, glancing around to make sure they were alone.

"Of course I'm Bim Trimmer!" Bim replied indignantly, as if offended that Shawn didn't know him.

"Right, just hand over the bag already so I can split." Shawn growled impatiently, holding out his free hand for the bag Bim had.

"Please, I'm not new Shawn. If I give you the bag, who's to say that you won't just take both bags and bolt?" Bim replied with a chuckle.

"Maybe you're not as stupid as ya look. Okay, how about this. We both set our bags down, and walk to go get what's ours. Deal?" Shawn suggested, his eyes narrowing when he saw something move behind Bim.

"Okay, deal." Bim nodded in agreement, setting the bag down as Shawn caught a flash of metal in the near-darkness.

Shawn reached for his pistol as a gun fired behind Bim, Shawn gritting his teeth and hissing in pain as the bullet grazed his arm while Bim whirled around seeming surprised.

Shawn left his bag of alcohol on the ground and ran forward, snatching the bag from Bim before running to the car and speeding off.

Bim grabbed Shawn's bag and bolted to his car with bullets following, barely dodging them as he took off at top speed with the bag in the passenger seat.

"The hell? That wasn't one of our guys...can't be one of the Septics either if they shot Shawn." Bim muttered thoughtfully with a frown, driving back to the manor.

Bim parked the car outside of the manor and walked inside with the bag of alcohol, straightening his suit with his free hand.

"What took so long?"

Bim looked to see a man dressed in a white suit standing at the top of the stairs, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyebrow raised.

"I ran into some unexpected trouble Dark." Bim admitted with a sigh, going up the stairs and handing him the bag. "Someone was there and shot the Septic who came to make the trade."

"I see...I will have to tell Mark this when I bring him the alcohol." Dark nodded, taking the bag carefully so as to not break the contents.

"Why are we trading our guns for alcohol even though we can't drink?" Bim questioned, folding his arms across his chest.

"Because alcohol is profitable and harder to get a hold of with this Prohibition." Dark replied coolly before turning and taking the bag into their boss's office.

The man at the desk was dressed in a maroon suit reading over some documents where their trades were recorded, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he swept strands of black hair out of his face.

"The trade succeeded Mark, however there was a...complication, it seems." Dark stayed as he set the bag down on the desk, Mark looking up and setting the papers aside. "What kind of complication?"

"According to Bim, someone had tried shooting at them and succeeded in injuring the Septic who made the trade." Dark recounted, earning a frown from Mark.

"It must've been another Septic trying to shoot Bim, but missing and hitting their own instead." Mark murmured thoughtfully. "Thank you Dark, you're dismissed."

Dark scowled slightly, but turned and left the room anyway while Mark took the alcohol and put it in a safe that he kept hidden under the floorboards.

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"So Phantom, you got him to talk?"

"Kind of...he talked about the trade between them and the Ipliers that you broke up, but he hasn't broken completely."

The two men talking in the darkness of the abandoned warehouse by the docks looked over at Marvin, who was chained up to a metal pole.

Marvin was unconscious with his chin resting on his chest, blood dripping from his forehead with slashes on his arms and a broken hand.

"Why didn't you kill the guys you shot at?"

"Nate instructed me not to...says he has a better plan."

"Whatever ya say Natemare..."

The manor:

The car: