The clanking of machinery echoed across the oil field, the smell of crude thick in the air. Metal pipes jutted into the horizon like skeletal fingers, while the rhythmic chug of the pumpjacks created a hypnotic, almost oppressive beat. Ricardo Irving skittered between rigs, his crocodile shoes kicking up mud that splattered onto his garish white pants. The humid heat bore down, plastering his shirt to his scrawny frame, but he didn’t mind. This? This was home. His little empire of oil and blood.

Still, something felt... off.

Irving stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the expanse of blackened earth and glistening machinery. There it was—a flicker of movement near the edge of the field, just past the perimeter fence. It was quick, barely noticeable, but enough to set his nerves alight.

“Eh? What’s this now?” he muttered, squinting. His Brooklyn accent cut through the mechanical drone, though no one was close enough to hear. He licked his lips nervously, a habit he hated but couldn’t kick. “Don’t tell me one of them BSAA clowns decided to crash my party…”

His pulse quickened, and his mind raced with possibilities. Rival companies? Nah, they’d be more subtle. BSAA? Could be, but they usually came in hot, not lurking around like ghosts.

He leaned closer to a nearby pipe and peeked around it, one hand clutching the polished revolver tucked into his belt. He hated guns—too loud, too messy—but sometimes you couldn’t avoid ‘em in this line of work. His eyes darted across the terrain again, his breath catching when he spotted it: a figure.

“Whoever you are, ya ain’t s’posed to be here,” he hissed under his breath. His lips pulled into a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It never did. “But hey, no biggie. Irving’s got this covered.”

He stepped out from behind the pipe, swaggering forward as though the mud beneath his feet were marble floors.

“Yo! Hey, buddy! You lost or somethin’? This here’s private property, see?” He gestured broadly to the field, the rigs, the whole filthy operation, like he was showing off his pride and joy. “If you’re lookin’ for a tour, you gotta make an appointment. But, uh, I don’t think you’re the type who’s into business ventures, if ya know what I mean.”