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Being the head of a crime syndicate didn’t pay as well as you might think. Tubbo had expected his new rise in status to come with a nice little income boost, but if anything he was making less than he was when he was just bookkeeping for Soulfire. There were significantly more attempts on his life though, so at least something was on the up.
Amongst the worn down tenements Tubbo called home, Missa’s oil black car stood out like a sore thumb. It purred in the way luxury cars tend to do as it slid up quietly in front of the curb where he stood waiting. Obviously crime was paying out better for some people.
A dozen wandering eyes narrowed in on him and his visitor. Good. Everyone knew what it meant when Missa came to pick someone up in this car. By nightfall, half the city would know that Tubbo Underscore had met with the Angel of Death. And if he was still alive by tomorrow, Tubbo was sure a lot of people would suddenly be a bit more eager to respond back to the messages they had spent the better part of the last six months ignoring.
An invitation from the Crows was more than just that, it was an acknowledgement of his position. And after the last year of bloody infighting as he secured his power, an acknowledgement was exactly what he needed.
Tubbo tried his best not to fidget. The suit Tina had picked out for him was slightly too small and the fabric pulled tight around his legs. There had been few options on such short notice. It wasn’t like he could show up to this meeting in what he normally wore. The man he was meeting was of the sort that got offended by that sort of thing. Despite the poor tailoring, it was a nice enough suit. The fit of the jacket at least made him look a bit older than he actually was.
Missa’s skull shaped mask covered everything but his bright toothy smile as he peered out through the car window.
“Tubbo,” he called out, his voice light and cheerful, “it is good to see you again.”
Despite his nerves, the smile Tubbo returned was genuine. It was impossible not to smile around Missa.
He slipped into the car before Missa could get out to open his door. The gentlemanly criminal persona the Crows liked to put on made his skin crawl. He was already wearing the suit, he wasn’t about to change his whole damn personality for them.
Having spent the better part of his teenage years growing up around mobsters, Tubbo was more than familiar with nice cars. But none of them could hold a candle to Missa’s vehicle. The inside was just as nice as its shining exterior with dark Italian leather seats that were buttery soft under his palms. He felt guilty just sitting on them.
He understood now why Tina had been so insistent that he clean his shoes thoroughly before he left. If he had managed to track any mud into this car, he probably would have felt compelled to open the door and roll into oncoming traffic.
“I thought you moved past running errands for Crows. I had the impression you were going down more of a solo route.”
Missa had not bothered to put the car into park and he pulled back onto the street the moment the door had shut. He waited until he was stopped behind a red light before he turned back to grin at Tubbo.
“It's not every day that someone asks me to set up a meeting with the Angel for them. You can’t blame me for being a little curious.”
Tubbo had not outright asked Missa to set up a meeting for him, but in their world the hints he had spent weeks dropping to the mercenary were basically the same thing. It wasn’t like one could just walk up and demand to meet with the leader of the Crows. You had to get a bit creative. Though technically independent, Missa was loyal enough to the Crows that he would pass along a message if it interested him enough. Tubbo had spent months, and much of their already tight budget, trying to catch the mercenary’s attention.
The drive out of downtown was a long one. Traffic came to a halt at almost every intersection blanketing the city in a wave of noise as thousands of its residents tried to return home from work. Conversation had quickly petered off as Tubbo made his way through his predetermined list of acceptable small talk topics leaving behind a soft silence that was only interrupted by Missa’s faint humming along to the radio.
He liked Missa well enough, but he had no fucking idea how to actually talk to the guy. Though they had interacted face to face quite a few times, the man remained an enigma. One moment he’d be mercilessly mowing down his opponents with that haunting skeletal mask painted red with blood, and the next he would be shrieking like a child at a spider he found crawling on his boots. He claimed to work for himself but there were rumors that his connection with the Crows were something that went beyond just business, that messing with Missa meant risking a knife in your back. Tubbo didn’t know what to make of the man.
Well it didn’t matter what he thought of him, he had done what Tubbo needed of him. After weeks of waiting, the small cream envelope that had shown up on his doorstep a few nights ago had been a relief. There was only one man in the city pretentious enough to send a handwritten invitation to a meeting, and he was exactly the man Tubbo needed to see. Finally things could actually begin moving. Unfortunately it also meant that their ass kissing was also about to double in force, hence why he was sitting in the back of Missa’s car in his Sunday best trying very desperately not to look as trashy as he actually was. He didn’t particularly like having to grovel but he would get down on his knees and beg if he thought he had to.
He grabbed onto his fidgeting fingers and forced them to still as the cramped city high-rises slowly transitioned into cookie cutter houses with manicured lawns. Eventually the silence got to him. If he stayed quiet a minute longer he might just start spilling Soulfire’s plans out of the desperate need just to say something. Everyone always said he had an unfortunate habit of talking too much when he got nervous.
“So, you ever meet the big boss himself?” he cringed at the crack in his voice.
Missa lifted his gaze from the radio dials and his warm brown eyes met Tubbos’s in the mirror.
“You could say that,” he chuckled, “don’t worry he’s not as scary as they say.”
Tubbo bristled at the teasing lilt to his voice. Not scary his ass. The Crows were a different sort of criminal organization. They had practically built this city, had turned it from a poor seaside port into a bustling trading hub and then christened it in their enemies’ blood. They were not so much part of the city as they were the city itself.
Where most mobsters were flashy, the crows thrived in the shadows. They had their fingers in every pie in the city yet you’d be hard struck to find someone who could recognize their leader or even be able to accurately point out which of the city’s officials were on the crow’s payroll. Anyone could be a crow, anyone could be reporting to them. Even the crows didn’t even know each other.
They were silent deadly killers who emerged from the dark to strike at their targets and then sank back into the shadows. Their current boss had only strengthened their stranglehold over the city. There was a reason he was known as the Angel of Death and it was more to do with his tendency to slit throats rather than any sort of biblical justice.
“Trust me Phil wouldn't hurt a fly,” Missa said fondly, “honestly you're more at risk of being forcibly adopted than any actual harm. He’s got a weakness for kids with big eyes and bloody hands.”
Tubbo was going to temporarily ignore the fact that Missa was apparently close enough with the Angel of Death to be on a first name basis with him. He was too stuck on the idea of the leader of the Crows being a man with the name Phil. What kind of mob boss was named Phil? Men named Phil were supposed to collect sailboats in bottles or something useless like that, not be the head of the most dangerous crime syndicate on the east coast. He was so distracted by the thought of the Angel of Death possibly being a man who played golf that it took a moment for the rest of Missa’s statement to sink in.
“I am not a kid,” he blurted out.
Damn it, that was exactly what a kid would say. Missa was obviously thinking the same thing and he struggled to bite back his laughter. When were people going to get over the whole teenager thing? Yes he was young, but he was nineteen not twelve. He had done more than most of the bastards who walked around this city like they owned it. But just because he couldn’t drink legally, people thought they could walk all over him.
“I’ve literally hired you to murder so many people for me.”
“Of course sir,” Missa said in a voice so serious it looped back around to being mocking.
Somehow the teasing didn’t feel disrespectful. When Bad or Pierre or the rest of his guys made jokes at his expense, it was like they were testing for weakness. Each barb was a challenge to check for holes in his armor that they could exploit. But with Missa, the joking felt more equal, like something done amongst friends.
The car fell into a more comfortable silence after that. The houses grew larger and spread further apart as they moved away from the city limits. Large brightly colored trees lined the streets leading to the Angel’s house. He wondered how many had driven through these roads unaware of the monster that resided at the end of them. They stopped at a large and intricate iron wrought gate connected to a low stone wall that stretched around the thick trees ahead. Where the rich orange and red leaves had fallen from their branches, hints of grey stone peeked through. Finally they had arrived.
The security was deceptively minimal. To the unaware, it might have looked like an easy mark, but he was sure there were cameras covering every inch of this place and a whole heap of defensive measures hidden in plain sight. It wouldn’t have surprised him to find out there were guards patrolling those woods as well, just daring someone to try and break in.
Missa buzzed in the intercom next to the gate and an indistinguishable voice said something that made him laugh before the gates slowly swung inward. The car rolled leisurely through the trees until they reached the end of the driveway and the house finally came into view.
“Beautiful isn’t it?” Missa asked but Tubbo was too slack jawed to respond.
He would be the first to admit that he was not the most well traveled person. Tubbo had been born in the shitty part of the city, then he went to school in the shitty part of the city, and then he dropped out to join the criminal group that ran said shitty part of the city. The most experience he had with real wealth and splendor were the old brownstones they would take the bus over to on Halloween and the opulent casino that lit up half the harbor in flashing lights. This was a level of wealth he had not experienced before.
The house, no the manor, was huge. It was made of a dark grey stone that towered over the nearby trees. There must have been a hundred tall windows covering the gothic looking architecture that glittered in the evening light like sunlight on the sea. It must be extremely intimidating in the dark with its looming towers and stone gargoyles that peered off the rooftops. He should have had Missa pick him up somewhere further downtown rather than in front of his building. His broken down box of an apartment was just embarrassing compared to this.
“Pull yourself together Tubbo,” he whispered under his breath.
He was not some scared little boy that could be intimidated by a few gargoyles. Tubbo had fought and bled for the right to be here. The only thing the Angel had on him was time. All of this was inherited, the job, the manor, the city. He didn’t know what it was like to grab onto power with bloody fists and hold it. It was all just a power play, the invitation that showed up on his front step, the shining black car with its ferocious driver, the giant gothic house. It was all designed to scare him and Tubbo was not about to let himself get intimidated by a man named Phil.
He schooled his face into something a bit less Little Orphan Annie as the car came to a stop in front of the stone steps leading up to the manor. This time Missa was ready for him and he was stepping out of the car and opening Tubbo’s door before he had the chance to undo his seatbelt. Tubbo wanted to punch that obnoxious smirk off his face.
Walking up those gleaming white steps felt more like he was descending into hell. Missa walked a half step behind him and for the second time today, he was grateful Tina had made him scrub his shoes. It would have been really embarrassing to leave behind a bunch of city grime on these perfect stairs.
The front door was made of a rich brown wood with a large bronze door knocker in the shape of a flying crow fastened to the center of it. A bit on the nose but that seemed on brand for the Crows. There wouldn’t be much plausible deniability if the cops came knocking and the literal symbol of your crime group was plastered all over the front door. But then again the Crows had half the city’s cops in their pocket and the other half was probably too chicken shit to actually do anything.
Missa didn’t hesitate before grabbing the knocker and letting it drop with a resounding clang. Barely a few seconds passed before the door began to soundlessly open inward and a grey weathered man appeared in the opening. He was dressed in a simple but well fitting black waistcoat that matched the stern look on his face. When his gaze landed on Tubbo, he was suddenly uncomfortably aware of every wrinkle, stain, and crease on his clothing.
“Mister Sinfonia, Mister Underscore, thank you for joining us this evening. Mister Craft is waiting for you both in this office,” he said in a low and sophisticated voice before turning back towards the dark depths of the house.
Tubbo turned to Missa for guidance but he was no help. He only gave him another infuriating chuckle before following after the butler. He stumbled as he tried to keep up, his feet catching in the thick fibers of the oriental rug lining the hall. Stupid rich people with their fancy carpets and judgy butlers. Who even had a butler anymore? Why would someone hire a fancy old man to follow them around all day when robots were literally a thing.
The judgy butler led them through what felt like a maze of hallways covered in ornate oil portraits of people who must have been important enough when they were alive if they had been preserved in paint. Their eyes followed him as he passed as if they could sense that he did not belong amongst them. He was sure they were probably rolling in their graves at the thought of someone like him being there. But they were dead and he wasn’t, so fuck them.
The door to the Angel’s office was relatively unassuming compared to the rest of the house’s splendor. It was a light chocolate brown with a warm brass knob that would not have been scary had Tubbo not known what lay within. This was it, the Angel of Death himself. He had heeded the summons and willingly walked into the jaws of hell. It was time to find out whether or not all the planning he had done, all the blood he had spilt, would have been worth it.
Tubbo was so excited he thought he might throw up.
The butler lightly knocked on the door and a faint voice beckoned him to come in. Hopefully this didn’t go to shit completely. It would be real difficult to find a taxi that would come all the way out here.
The Angel’s office was simpler than he expected. Large windows covered the back wall scattering beams of the setting sun onto the hardwood floor. Shelves practically spilling with books bracketed both ends of the room. Two chairs faced the desk at the center with deep red cushioning that matched the plush couch off to the side. The room was an explosion of crimson and dark brown wood that should have been as ornate in the rest of the house but instead felt weirdly comforting in this small sunlit room.
Even the desk which would normally be a point for intimidation was softened by the seemingly endless picture frames and knicknacks scattered across it. The Angel was hidden by a large red satin chair that was turned to face the windows where a clear view of Missa’s parked car could be seen. At the sound of the door closing behind them, the chair spun around with a flourish.
“Missa,” the Angel said warmly, “look what the cat dragged in.”
As a kid Tubbo had envisioned the Angel as something monstrous, a being that was just as much bird as he was man with glowing red eyes and midnight black wings. When he had entered the criminal world, he had devised a different picture of the man. He’d met many powerful men with their beer guts and receding hairlines. He had imagined the Angel to be the same, with gaudy rings covering his fingers and gold teeth shining in his mouth. Upon Missa’s reveal of his name in the car, he had started picturing a more mousy sort of man who didn’t step outside without at least a dozen guards surrounding him.
The Angel of Death looked nothing like any of that.
The Angel was maybe in his mid thirties with deep smile lines and sky blue eyes. He had straight blonde hair that curled ever so slightly where it met the tops of his shoulders and was of a pretty average build. If he stood, Tubbo suspected that he would not be much taller than himself. His suit, while clearly expensive, was a subtle coal black and he had forgone wearing a tie. The only thing eccentric about him was the ugly green and white striped bucket hat that covered his crown. Other than that he was shockingly normal looking, like someone you would bump into at a grocery store and forget immediately after meeting him.
Missa rushed forward to embrace the Angel in a deep hug with a smile that was realer than anything he had shown Tubbo all day. They obviously were closer than Tubbo had expected. Unless the Angel just greeted everyone with hugs. God he hoped not. He wasn’t sure he could do that without accidentally insulting the man and then the rest of Soulfire would burn him alive at the stake. After a few awkward moments of fidgeting while trying to figure out if he was supposed to interject or something, Missa finally remembered he was standing there.
He smiled as he broke away from the hug to face Tubbo, “Phil, can I introduce you to Tubbo Underscore, the current head of Soulfire.”
Tubbo’s back went uncomfortably straight as the Angel’s gaze narrowed in on him. His eyes were clear from any visible judgment but Tubbo still felt as if his soul had been ripped out and placed on the desk for everyone to see. There was a hardness there that reminded him that outside the smiling face and stupid looking hat that this was a man who would not hesitate to strike down someone he deemed a threat.
Against his best efforts, Tubbo could not stop himself from shivering.
“Mr. Underscore, it's great to finally meet you.”
Tubbo stepped forward to grasp his outstretched hand and before he could stop himself, the words were already falling out of his mouth,
“Call me anything but that king, the only people who call me Mr. Underscore are my lawyer and the old lady who runs my laundromat, and only because they scare me too much to say otherwise.”
You would think for once in his life, he would know when to shut the fuck up. Of all the times for him to open his big mouth, this was probably the worst. He was going to be strung up and quartered if he lost this deal because he compared the head of the Crows to the little old lady who helped him with his laundry, even if it was true that she was the scariest person he had ever met.
Thankfully the Angel seemed to find it amusing and his deep laugh filled the room as he shook Tubbo’s hand. His grip was firm but not bone crushing with hands that were covered in calluses. So the Angel did at least some of his dirty work himself. That was good, he would have respected the man a lot less if his hands were as soft as one of his cushions.
“Tubbo then,” he said, still laughing, “It is only fair that you call me Phil then mate.”
Tubbo nodded, still grappling with the idea that the previous head of the Crows had looked down at his son and heir and decided to name him Phil. They broke apart and Phil went to stand back next to Missa.
“You know when we heard that the boss of Soulfire had been overthrown in a coup, none of us expected a teenager to have been the one behind the reins. It's rather impressive for someone your age.”
Despite his friendly smile, Phil’s eyes picked apart every piece of him. Though he had spent most of his life being told he didn’t belong, this was the first time he felt a bit like the low class upstart they were always accusing him of being. Tubbo wondered how many people had failed to see past the laughs and eccentric taste in clothes until it was too late and the man’s claws were already buried deep inside their flesh.
“The old man was too busy gambling to be able to run Soulfire effectively. He was running us into the ground,” he said carefully.
“Oh yeah the guy was a twat,” Phil said with a smile. His head tilted like a predator locked onto his prey, “and you thought you could do things better?”
“I knew I could do things better,” Tubbo asserted.
Phil laughed, “of course you did mate.”
He tried to bristle under the weight of the condescension in his tone. He was too used to being underestimated to let Phil’s words get under his skin. But he still had to push down the urge to punch him right in that stupid, unchanging smile.
“And obviously others agreed with you. You have quite the backing now. We were quite impressed with how it all went down, very quick and efficient, I could not have done it better myself,” He wanted to smack that smug look right off his face, instead Tubbo smiled and hoped he looked grateful for the compliment.
“Not very discreet though, the public executions garnered you some unwanted attention but I get the want to establish yourself as a threat. I’m curious how you managed to get so many to stand behind you.”
“It was simple, I had a plan and people decided they wanted to follow it. I mean it's not like they loved the old man,” Tubbo said.
Phil looked like he did not believe him, “simple,” he repeated to himself as he watched Tubbo’s face carefully for some sort of tell.
If he was going to be completely honest, it had been mostly Tina who had gotten the rest of the rebelling faction to his side. Without her, he would never have gotten where he was. It had been Tina who convinced people to stand behind him, who expanded his cause from a rag tag group of idealists to an actual force to be reckoned with. He wasn’t stupid, the only reason Soulfire hadn’t completely fallen apart was because people trusted Tina and so in extension they trusted Tubbo.
He was fine with that. He did not need people to love him, he needed them to trust in his results. After all, it had been Tubbo’s plan that had gotten Tina on board. She had taken one look at the 18 year old with a smoking gun and plans too big to fit inside his head, and decided to put her trust in him. And it would be Tubbo’s plan that established Soulfire as a main player once more.
He wondered what Phil thought of him, if he saw him as a threat. He was not the kind of charismatic leader that normally succeeded in their circles. He wasn’t someone who could convince others to follow him to uncertain death. It must be hard for a man like Phil, someone who was born to power and was surrounded by people willing to die for him in a heartbeat, to understand Tubbo.
Tubbo wasn’t someone who inspired loyalty. He wasn’t the strongest or the most well liked. He had a habit of talking when he shouldn't and he seemed to piss people people off just by breathing. But what he did have was his brain, a plan, and the conviction to see it through. He did not need anything else to get people to follow him.
Phil stared at him for a moment more before turning back to Missa who was watching the whole exchange with a smile tugging at his lips and his arms crossed against his chest.
“The kids are waiting in the den if you want to see them. Tallulah has a new song she wanted to show you.”
Kids? Right, Missa had mentioned something about Phil having an adoption problem. He probably had a whole flock of them tucked away in his nest.
“Phil,” Missa whined, dragging out the last bit of his name. The menacing man whose name sent shivers down criminals' spines had vanished and in his place was the physical embodiment of a cat who fell head first into his bowl of milk.
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Missa complained.
“You know I can’t keep anything from them,” Phil smiled as he lightly pushed Missa to the side causing him to dramatically crumple against one of the chairs, “Stop being so dramatic you big baby. They’ll be just as excited to see you.”
Missa sulked off towards the door and gave Tubbo a half hearted wave before stepping out into the labyrinth of hallways. The door closed behind him with a soft click but it might as well have been a cannon sound with how ominously it echoed through the room. A thick silence fell over the room and the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. Tubbo glanced at the door and silently willed Missa to come back again. He would much prefer watching them make kissy faces at each other than deal with this conversation.
After about a minute of awkward silence, Tubbo had to say something.
“So Missa,” he ignored the way Phil’s eyes bored into his head, “you guys um close or something?”
Phil chuckled and his shoulders lost some of the tension they had gained when Missa left.
“You could say that,” he paused before carrying on, “we’re co-parents,” he confessed.
“Of course! Co-parenting! Makes sense!”
Yes it made perfect sense that the leader of the most influential crime syndicate in the city had a co-parenting agreement with a highly sought after mercenary. What about that wouldn't make sense? He definitely would not be lying awake tonight thinking about this.
“C’mon mate, we should get started. I don’t want Missa to have to drive back in the dark.”
Because that was the most dangerous part of Missa’s job, driving at night.
Tubbo placed himself in one of the chairs in front of Phil’s desk, carefully to keep his back straight and not to fidget too much. He longed for his simple office back at the Soulfire base. It was barely anything more than a second hand desk and a couple of fold out chairs but he could breathe easier there. He pinched his arm and took a deep breath. He could do this. He had dealt with dozens of power people’s powerplays, he could survive a man wearing a fucking bucket hat.
Phil was relaxed behind his desk, completely within his element. Tubbo tried to discreetly rub the sweat from his palms.
“One of my little birds tells me you want to make a deal. How can I help you mate?”
Never being someone who was good at small talk, Tubbo went straight for it.
“The railways. We have most of them, I want all of them.”
Somewhere back in the city Tina was no doubt throwing darts at a picture of his face.
Phil frowned and his eyes narrowed, “That's a bold ask mate. We built the underground. It's been under our control for decades.”
Tubbo continued before he could lose the nerve, “The metro is doing nothing but cost you. I’ve seen the numbers, just because you have the money to sink millions into a system that can’t even break even doesn’t mean you should.”
“Even if I wanted to sell, you could never afford it,” Phil said bluntly.
He was right, Soulfire was very nearly broke. After he had taken over, he and Tina had found debt hidden in nearly every dark corner. Soulfire had never been as profitable as it could be but the millions the old man had gambled away had only put them deeper into the hole. If they scrambled together all of their assets and money, they probably could afford to buy the metro off the Crows outright, but that would leave them vulnerable. They could not afford to be vulnerable.
For Soulfire to move forward as according to plan, Tubbo needed control over the subway system. They owned the tracks going out of the city but they were mostly obsolete. Cars had replaced the train for personal travel and the docks were still the main site for the city’s import and export. But Tubbo wasn’t worried about interstate trade, the Crows already held a monopoly over that. He was more interested in the tunnels that wove through the city’s underground.
His plans couldn’t move forward without the subway. It was true they didn’t have the funds but he knew there were things that Phil coveted more than plain old money.
“What if I could offer access to nuclear power?”
Phil was too professional to fully lose his poker face but even he couldn’t hide the hint of greed that flashed across his eyes. If he knew anything about crows is that they loved anything shiny, and Soulfire’s gleaming new nuclear power plant was just about the shiniest thing in this damn city.
“I can offer you access to the power from the plant at a greatly reduced price. Fifteen years should be enough to pay for the metro.”
It was more than enough. Access to the plant would reduce the Crow’s expenses tenfold and would allow them to solidify their empire. There was a reason Soulfire had withheld access for so long. With nuclear power, the Crows would become virtually untouchable. It was worth way more than the city’s crumbling underground system but Phil was a big fish that required an even bigger piece of bait to reel him in.
“That is quite the generous offer,” Phil said carefully as he tried to figure out the catch, “more generous than even someone in your position would offer. You can’t blame me for being suspicious.”
Phil leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, “You’re right that the subway is a money pit. It’s the leftovers from an era where the idea of the general public having personal cars was unimaginable. My people have been telling me to close them up for years. So it begs the question, why would you want to throw whatever’s left of Soulfire into it? I haven’t gotten this far in this business by handing over weapons to my enemies.”
Phil’s voice was cold and steady. This was no longer the happy go lucky man who co-parented with mercenaries and wore bright green bucket hats, no this was the Angel of Death in the flesh. Goosebumps rose all across Tubbo’s arms.
He had prepped over a dozen different stories to tell the Angel, a dozen watered down plans that established Soulfire as a contender without showing all his cards. But when the moment came, they slipped out of his grasp like they were coated in oil. What did he tell him? What would convince Phil that this was in the Crow’s best interest?
“Why haven’t you?” he blurted out, “Shut it down, that is.”
Phil looked thrown. He obviously hadn’t expected that question and honestly Tubbo also wasn’t really sure why he asked it. The whole situation just bothered him. Why would Phil continue to throw money at the metro when he obviously had no plans to do anything to change it? Why hadn’t he just cut his losses years ago? The whole thing was just a waste of time and resources with seemingly no benefit. It just didn’t make any sense.
The tops of Phil’s cheeks were dusted with pink and he sounded strangely nervous when he answered, “Well a lot of people rely on the subway for you know work and stuff. It would be pretty shitty of me to just pull that out from under their legs just because it's a little pricey. You get it right?”
Tubbo decidedly did not get it but he nodded along anyways. If Phil cared enough about “the people” to keep throwing money at keeping the underground open, why not put in the effort to make it actually efficient? Why bother to drag around the dead weight when he obviously had no intention of reviving it? He could have sold it off to the city government ages ago. But instead he hung onto out of what, some sort of misplaced sense of duty?
It was such a Crow mentality that it made Tubbo want to scream. Why actually try to change anything when you can just spend all your money making sure everything stays exactly the same. Why give power over to another when there was a chance someone could use it against you. They were so infuriatingly risk averse.
Still Phil was apparently a bit of a bleeding heart, he could work with that. Missa said he liked big eyes and bloody fists? He would give him big eyes and bloody fucking fists.
It took a moment for him to find the words he wanted to say, “I took over Soulfire because I wanted to make a difference, because I wanted to change this city in a way that someone who’s never lived below 14th street could never understand…no offense.”
Phil hummed dismissively and waved away the potential insult, “And the subway? How does that play into this?”
“I always took the metro to school,” Tubbo said softly, like that was something difficult to admit and not reality for large portion of the city, “Parents couldn’t afford a car and later the fosters either couldn’t either or had better things to do than drive a brat to school.”
“I saw a lot on those rides, parents afraid to let their kids out of their grip for even a second, older people turned away or ticketed because they couldn’t afford their ride to the doctors, people frantically rushing out of the station because it was faster to run to work than deal with some of the delays. It made me feel small.”
He took a moment to take a quick glance up from his feet at Phil. Tha man was eating up his words like they were coated in honey. His eyes were full of pity and he looked as if he wanted to reach out to console him. Rich people were so god damn predictable. Give them a wide eyed look and throw some pitiful story at them, and they would lap out of his hands like a stray cat drinking milk. It didn’t matter how much of the city he controlled or how much blood was on his hands, The Angel of Death was exactly the same as the rest of the city’s rich fucks.
A weight lifted off Tubbo’s shoulders. This was familiar, this was easy. He had played this role countless times before. If Phil wanted a kid he could step in and save, that's exactly what he would give him.
“Everyday I would sit there and watch powerlessly as people suffered from a broken system and thought about how I would fix it. Now I finally have the power to do exactly that. But I can’t do it alone.”
It wasn’t like it was a complete lie. Tubbo had sat there every day bubbling with frustration as he watched the system fail again and again with seemingly no possibility of it changing. And it was true that each night he had laid awake and planned out how he could do it differently, how he would do it right. But it wasn’t because people were suffering. Sure that sucked but people suffered every day in this city.
You see, Tubbo hated broken things. And he especially hated broken things he knew he could fix.
The problem was that Tubbo was a perfectionist. He had never been able to see something broken and ignore the urge to fix it. And this drive hadn’t been satisfied with fixing off time watches or creaking machines. Unfortunately it also meant that when he was recruited to bookkeep for the mob, he couldn’t help but look at their plans and think “I could do this so much better.”
His teachers had always said he was too smart for his own good, that it would get him in trouble some day. He hated to admit that they may have been right. Maybe if he had done his homework like they told him to, he would have been busy getting plastered at some rich research university instead of spending his days resolving pointless squabbles between gangsters twice his age. But how could he let himself regret it when he was so close to seeing the past three years of work finally come to fruition. And if people’s daily lives improved because of it, well that was just a bonus.
“The metro is a monster of a problem. People older and more experienced than you have shattered after throwing themselves against that monster. And you believe you can bring it back?” Phil’s previous condescension was gone, replaced by a wavering curiosity.
“I know I can,” Tubbo affirmed, this time his words were nothing but the truth.
The rest of their conversation flowed smoothly after that. By the time they were shaking hands, the sun was almost fully set and both men were smiling. There would be time later for signing contracts and hashing out all the specifics, but for now Tubbo allowed himself to bask in the victory. He was going to rub this so hard in Bad’s face when he got back. He had been so adamant that Tubbo was “too abrasive” to handle such a sensitive deal. Well look who just secured the deal of the century. Politics was so much easier than he thought it would be.
“You’re a smart kid Tubbo. It will be fun working with you.”
“Same to you Phil,” Tubbo grinned.
Phil glanced at his watch, “It's getting late, you must be starving. You should stay and join us for dinner.”
Tubbo was conflicted. On one hand, dinner meant free, most likely delicious, freshly cooked food that would be a welcome break from the takeout he had been surviving on. But on the other hand, dinner also meant continuing to talk with Phil and his family for an extended period of time.
“I have to be going back, crime never sleeps you know,” he joked awkwardly.
“I’ll have Missa show you out then. We talked longer than I thought so he won’t be able to drive you back but I would be happy to offer you my driver.”
“Thanks, that would be great.”
What else was he going to do, walk home?
As if summoned by the mention of his name, the office door opened to reveal Missa. His mask was slightly askew, revealing bits of his eyebrow where it sat crooked on his face. He had taken off his jacket and his white shirt had a small group of red and purple fingerprints clustered near his hip. He waved off someone further down the hall and a flurry of tiny footsteps and high pitched giggles echoed as they scurried away from him.
“Looks like everything went well in here. You didn’t scare him too much did you Phil? Remember we actually like Tubbo.”
“Fuck off mate,” Phil said. He stood and Tubbo took that as his cue to follow suit.
“That's good to hear because I like me too,” Tubbo joked.
Phil’s laughter came easily, “I really hope you succeed Tubbo. You seem like you’re gonna be a lot more interesting than the last guy. I think this can be the start of a great friendship between the Crows and Soulfire.”
“I agree,” said Tubbo. The lie slipped out as easily as water flows from a tap.
“My people will be in further contact to facilitate the exchange,” Phil continued, unaware of the fangs Tubbo had hidden behind his lips, “Don’t be a stranger now.”
Missa was in high spirits as he escorted him out. He practically skipped down the hallway with Tubbo right at his heels.
“It looks like we might be seeing each other more often.”
“God I hope not, you’re fucking expensive Missa.”
His laughter bellowed loudly in the narrow halls. He took a turn and then another one and soon they had reached the entryway where Tubbo had entered. Besides the door was an abandoned stuffed turtle plushie which Missa picked up with a bemused smile.
“That never stopped you before. You can be honest, I won’t be offended if you stop calling on me. There will always be someone who needs my services.”
Tubbo frowned, “Why would I stop hiring you? I was just joking. Sure you’re expensive but there's no one better in the city at what you do. Trust me you’re going to be sick of me soon enough.”
Missa stroked the stuffed turtle in his hands. It was a well loved thing with a few bald patches where little hands had gripped on tight.
“I may not be a Crow but I will always be loyal to Phil. No amount of money will be able to turn me against him.”
That much was obvious. He had gotten that idea by the whole they were raising children together thing. He said as much to Missa.
“Then how can you ever trust me? Won’t you worry about me selling your secrets to the Crows?” Missa asked.
Tubbo had to bite down his annoyance. Why was everyone so hung up about this whole loyalty thing? Of course Missa would be reporting on him to Phil. He knew that before he even met the leader of the Crows. His plans were not so fragile that they relied on secrecy, he accidentally leaked them himself far too much for that.
“You’ve been spilling my secrets from the moment I met you. Of course I can’t trust you but I don’t care about trust. I don’t expect you to change or to falter in your loyalties. Cause I know when shit goes down, you’re going to want in on what we’re doing.”
Missa blinked at him before breaking out into a laugh. His hand thunked against Tubbo’s shoulder, “You’re a cocky bastard Tubbo.”
He shrugged off Missa’s hand with a smile. Was it really cockiness when it was the truth? So Missa thought he was joking, fine it didn’t bother him. He knew how they saw him. He was an overconfident kid who was still high off the couple of wins he had tucked under his belt. An amusing diversion for now that would be even better to watch when his naivety faltered against a real threat. Phil, Missa, and the rest of them would call him kid and ruffle his hair now, but when he started to fail they would no doubt grab the popcorn and enjoy the show.
Well they would be waiting for a long time. Tubbo did not intend on failing anytime soon. He waved Missa off and stepped out of the manor and towards the black car that was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. He wondered if Phil was watching him from his office. He did not look back to check.
Unlike Missa, Phil’s driver was silent in the front seat. Tubbo rattled off his address and the man nodded and then smoothly put the car into drive. He was glad for the quiet. It gave him the time to process what had happened today.
From the suburbs the city looked as if it was illuminated by a hundred thousand lights that made it glitter like stardust. It was almost beautiful from the outside and he understood why someone like Phil could love it, why he would want to protect it. From here, it was almost beautiful. But it was nothing but a shining illusion. When you got close, when you actually stepped foot in its depths, the mirage fell apart and the smell of rot was inescapable.
The city wasn’t hell. People like Phil had made sure of that. It wasn’t the best place to live but it wasn’t the worst either. The city made sure each of her inhabitants had just enough to keep them from being face down in the gutter, nothing more, nothing less.
No this city wasn’t hell, it was purgatory. Nothing ever changed, no one ever tried to rise above their station and inversely no one ever failed and rushed head first towards the concrete. Its power and wealth was passed down to each shining new generation, while the rest of them fought for a piece of their scraps. The city was stagnant and the Crows did their best to make sure that nothing could threaten that stability.
It was easy to preach about stability when you were firmly at the top, when you watched over the city from a bird’s point of view. But Tubbo had been born at the bottom, had clawed his way to power with bloody nails. He refused to be thankful for the bare minimum, refused to be comfortable in his predetermined spot in the dirt. He was sick of nothing ever changing, of the stifling dollhouse the powerful people of this city had designed it to be. It was past time they had to fight for their place as well.
The city was a dirty stagnant pond, the brackish water forced still by the twisting plants that covered its sandy floor, full of fat fish who never had to fight for their next meal. When he had taken over Soulfire, Tubbo had thrown a small stone into that pond. Of course the fish noticed the ripple it had caused, how could they not, nothing ever disturbed the water’s surface. But they brushed it off, it was a small ripple after all and it was as quick as it was insignificant. The pond waters had settled and everything had gone back to normal. But the stone didn’t disappear, it remained on the pond floor, half buried in the sand, unable to be moved.
Tubbo had to play nice with the Crows for now, had to smile and laugh and weasel his way in. He would continue to throw his small stones, little ripples that by themselves the fish could ignore. But one day the floor would be covered in rocks and suddenly there would be no more room for the plants to grow. And just as the fish inside had realized what he had done, he would unleash his shark.
Hidden in the darkness of the car, there was no one to see the smile stretched across Tubbo’s face.
Just because he had to play nice for now, doesn't mean he planned on doing it forever.