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The Knife clattered to the ground, dancing off of the cold stone floor, with its blade outstretched like the wings of some twisted bird. 

“Prove yourself,” Judas said to Daniel Trieu “Show us what you’ve got, little one.” 

Daniel could feel his hands shaking, his heart racing, as he slowly edged forwards, and grabbed hold of the blade. The world around him was fuzzy, and the knife felt light in his hands. 

“Give me the knife and I’ll cut him, myself.” Someone laughed. 

“You’ll do no such fucking thing,” Judas barked to the rabble of hanged men behind him “the cutting is a privilege. You don’t force that sort of thing upon a man. He has to earn it.” 

Judas bent down so that he was level with Daniel, placing one pale hand on the side of his head. His bright green eyes bore into him, hot like the flames of hell itself. 

“Come on, kitten,” Judas cooed “if you wanna do business with made men, you need to start acting like a made man.” 

Daniel nodded, his words abandoning him, and forced the blade of the knife into the flesh of his left arm. 

He felt the force of the metal ripping through his skin, puncturing him like a ruptured tire, slicing down to the very bone. The world vanished, and all that was left was the searing, head-splitting pain of steel through flesh. Blood pooled out of the wound, spilling forth and splattering against the stones. A thick trail of dark carmine slipped through the cracks, staining the floor red. 

“Keep going.” a voice instructed him. 

He gritted his teeth and yanked backwards, sheathing through his skin like a scythe through corn. The blood kept coming, and his flesh gave way, a jagged tear slashing backwards across his arm. A deep ravine was gouged into his skin, drowned beneath a tsunami of gushing blood. 

“Good job, doll face,” Judas said with a leering grin like that of a hungry shark, pulling Daniel back into the real world “Now let's get that nasty little boo boo bandaged up.” 

[hr] 

A few days later, Daniel sat across from Judas at Napoleon’s Palace, an up-market cafe in the Silver Expanse, with his arm all wound up in bandages. It stung like two bitches and a bastard. 

The pair were dressed smartly, garbed in damn expensive tuxedos, but even with his dark hair slicked back across his head, Judas still looked off; like a hyena in a suit. He had the sleeve of one arm rolled up, and Danny could see the necrotic tattoos that wound across his pale flesh. 

“They do the most [i]delicious[/i] crêpes, Danny boy,” the leader of the hanged men gushed, rolling the word ‘delicious’ off of his tongue “the kind you’d kill a man for.” 

The way Judas said it, it sounded as though he had. 

The cafe was a nice, quiet little establishment, with polished hardwood floors, and tables with crisp white cloths draped over them. There was a pleasant buzz to the place, as the customers chatted smoothly over their meals. 

“I’ll have to give them a try.” Daniel nodded. 

“You don’t [i]have[/i] to do anything,” Judas snapped “that’s the beauty of being a free man.” 

A waitress, pleasant to look upon with her bronze skin and coal black hair, made her way over to their table, a smile puckered on her lips. 

“Heya! I’m Carmella, I’ll be your waitress today,” she greeted them warmly “can I take your order?” 

“Two of your strawberry crêpes, and a glass of water,” Judas barked, without missing a beat “thanks, gorgeous.” 

“I’ll get right on that, sirs.” Carmella said with an uncomfortable smile, before turning on her heel and vanishing back into the cafe. 

“You like that sweet little piece, Danny boy?” Judas asked, once the black haired beauty had sauntered off. 

“Give me a desk and a flogger, and I’ll show you how I like her.” Daniel grinned, winking at his boss. 

Judas slid a folded up napkin across the table, gesturing for the younger man to pick it up. When he did, he found a swicthblade tucked away beneath it. 

“That little piece is Carmella Santoni,” he explained darkly “get her alone, and do what Hanged Men do best.” 

“I won’t disappoint you, boss man.” Daniel said with a nod. 

“Make sure of it,” Judas snarled “I don’t do second chances.”