A Reckoning

Lia and Dominic venture into a forgotten industrial shell in inner-city Winnipeg, driven by desperation and good intentions, only to find their hopes for community aid quickly entangled with a chilling, unexpected confrontation.

"You really think this is going to work, Dom?"

Dominic didn't look back, just kept his head down, shoulders hunched against the damp wind blowing off the Red River. The asphalt shimmered with recent rain, slick and obsidian. Spring was trying, bless its heart, but Winnipeg in April still held onto a bone-deep chill. Lia watched his worn sneakers splash through a puddle, the water an oily rainbow under the streetlights that were still clinging to the pre-dawn dark.

"It has to," he mumbled, his voice rough around the edges, like he hadn't quite woken up yet. Or maybe just hadn't wanted to.

Lia pulled her worn denim jacket tighter. It did nothing to block the cold. She shivered, but it wasn't just the air. It was the feeling, the knot in her gut that told her this was a mistake, a good intention gone sideways before it even began. "Because the other thing… it didn't."

He finally stopped, pivoting on the cracking pavement near a boarded-up storefront, its faded paint peeling like a bad sunburn. His face, when he finally turned it to her, was a mix of exhaustion and that stubborn hope she knew all too well. Hope that got them into more trouble than anything else.

"This is different, Lia. He said it would be. Said it was a sure thing."

"He also said the last thing was a sure thing," Lia retorted, kicking at a loose piece of gravel. It skittered across the wet concrete, stopping just short of a growing weed pushing through a crack. "Remember that whole 'easy pick-up, no fuss' garbage? Ended with us sprinting through back alleys with a dog the size of a small pony trying to chew off your leg."

Dominic actually managed a weak smile at that, a ghost of the easy laughter he used to carry. "Yeah, well, this is just... information. Nothing to run from." He gestured vaguely towards the looming concrete structure ahead, a relic of forgotten industry. "Just go in, get the details. Be out."

Lia scanned the hulking building. No lights. Just a gaping maw of darkness that seemed to swallow the weak light from the street. The air here was heavy with the smell of damp concrete and something metallic, a faint tang of rust and decay. Not exactly a welcoming aroma. A forgotten plastic bag, caught on a broken fence post, snapped in the wind like a nervous flag.

"And who exactly is 'he' this time, Dom? Because last time 'he' was your cousin's buddy's uncle's neighbour. That's a lot of degrees of separation from 'reliable'."

Dominic started walking again, faster this time, as if picking up speed would outrun her questions. "It's someone new. A guy from the North End. Heard about... what happened with the clinic. Said he wanted to help."

The clinic. That was the core of it, always the core. Their neighbourhood clinic, struggling, always a breath away from closing. They’d tried everything they could think of, every half-baked scheme, every well-meaning hustle. Some had even worked, for a little while. But then there were the others. The ones that left them picking up pieces, literally or figuratively.

"Help with what, exactly?" Lia felt her voice tightening. "Because 'help' usually means 'we do something sketchy and hope for the best'."

He stopped at a side door, a thick steel plate with a faded number, almost entirely obscured by graffiti. He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a small, bent paperclip. "Just… information on where to find some old equipment. Decommissioned stuff. They're just going to scrap it otherwise. We could get it cheap, refurbish it for the clinic." He looked at her then, his eyes earnest, almost pleading. "It’s not stealing, Lia. It’s salvaging. They don’t want it."

Lia looked from the paperclip to the door, then back to Dominic's hopeful, tired face. Salvaging. The word felt thin, stretched. She knew the line between salvaging and taking, between borrowing and stealing, could get blurry fast in their part of the city. Especially when you were desperate. Especially when you thought you were doing it for the right reasons. The clinic needed a new ultrasound machine, needed proper examination tables, needed more than they could ever scrape together through bake sales and small, legitimate donations. This felt like another one of those lines.

"And who exactly gave you the key for 'salvaging'?" she asked, a thread of sarcasm in her voice she couldn't quite dampen.

Dominic didn't meet her gaze this time. He just worked the paperclip into the lock, a quiet, almost reverent focus on his face. "He said… it was left unlocked. For us. Because he believes in what we're trying to do."

Lia rolled her eyes, but a fresh tremor ran through her. Unlocked. Of course. Too easy. Always too easy, until it wasn't. The metallic click of the lock, soft yet jarring in the quiet morning, echoed in the narrow space between the buildings. Dominic pushed the door open, a slow, complaining groan of rusted hinges.

Inside, the air was colder, stiller. And heavy with a different kind of smell – dust, mildew, and something else, something vaguely industrial, like old oil and burnt wiring. It was a cavernous space, a warehouse of some kind, stretching into a darkness that swallowed the weak light from the open door. A few stray beams of actual sunlight, thin and watery, pierced through grimy windows high up on the far wall, illuminating dancing motes of dust in the vast emptiness.

"Alright," Lia whispered, stepping inside. Her voice sounded tiny in the huge volume. She reached for Dominic's arm, her fingers brushing his sleeve. "Let's be quick. And quiet."

Dominic nodded, already pulling out his phone, its flashlight beam cutting a shaky path through the gloom. They navigated past towering stacks of empty pallets, their rough wood smelling like old earth. The floor was concrete, uneven and cracked, scattered with debris – bits of rusted metal, shattered glass, anonymous plastic wrappers. Lia’s boots crunched softly with every step, the sound amplified in the stillness.

They moved deeper, the air growing colder, their breath misting faintly. The silence pressed in, broken only by the drip of water somewhere in the distance and the scritch-scratch of something small scurrying away in the shadows. Lia kept her eyes peeled, not for whatever they were supposed to find, but for anything that felt out of place. A silhouette too tall for a pile of boxes, a shadow that didn't quite belong.

---

### A Cold Welcome

They reached the central bay, a huge, open area with a single, massive overhead crane hanging dormant like a metal skeleton. The scale of the place was disorienting, making them feel like specks. Dominic pointed his light towards a section against the far wall where shapes were beginning to resolve from the gloom – tarpaulin-covered mounds, hinting at disused machinery.

"Over there," he breathed, his voice barely audible. "He said it would be stored under blue tarps. Old medical imaging stuff, mostly. For parts, or refurbishment."

Lia’s gaze, however, was drawn not to the tarps, but to something else. A faint glint of light, just visible behind a stack of crates nearer to them. Not coming from the sun through the window. It was a reflection, sharp and metallic. Her heart gave a hard thump against her ribs.

"Dom," she murmured, pulling him back a step. "Hold on."

He paused, his light beam wavering. "What is it?"

"Something's… off." Lia squinted, trying to make sense of the anomaly in the shadows. It felt like a bad itch, a prickle on the back of her neck. The air felt heavier, not just with dust, but with an unspoken presence. She could almost taste the fear, sharp and acrid. The faint smell of damp moss from somewhere outside, carried in on a stray breeze through a broken pane, was a sudden, jarring contrast to the grime and danger surrounding them.

She stepped cautiously forward, past a dilapidated forklift, its flat tires deflated like sad lungs. The glint became clearer. It was the polished toe of a boot. And then, as she moved slightly, the dark fabric of a pant leg. A figure. Leaning against the crates, perfectly still.

Dominic’s breath hitched. His phone light, still pointed haphazardly, brushed across the side of the figure's face. Young. Just a bit older than them, maybe. And definitely not alone. Another pair of boots, further back, partially obscured.

"He said it would be empty," Dominic whispered, his earlier confidence draining out of him like bathwater. His hand was trembling slightly when Lia reached for it, her fingers gripping his wrist.

"Yeah, well, 'he' says a lot of things," Lia retorted, though her voice was barely above a whisper. Her mind raced, sifting through options. Retreat. That was the smart play. But they were already here. And the clinic… the clinic needed this. This was for their community, for the people who had nowhere else to turn.

A rustle of movement. The figure shifted, slowly, deliberately. A low voice, deep and gravelly, cut through the quiet.

"Lost, are we?"

Lia instinctively pulled Dominic behind her, stepping slightly forward, a small act of defiance that she hoped belied the frantic drumming in her chest. The figure pushed off the crates, stepping fully into the sliver of light from the high windows. Not just one. There were three of them, all young men, hardened faces, dressed in dark clothing that seemed to absorb what little light there was. One of them, taller than the others, held something in his hand. A wrench. It glinted ominously.

"Just… looking," Lia said, trying to keep her voice steady. Her gaze darted around, assessing exits, potential weapons. A loose metal pipe. Too far. The forklift. Maybe.

"Looking for what, exactly?" the tall one asked, a sneer playing on his lips. His eyes, though young, held a cold, knowing glint. "This ain't a tour, kid."

Dominic, from behind Lia, finally found his voice. "We were told… to pick up some equipment. For the clinic."

The tall one let out a short, humourless laugh. The sound scraped against Lia’s ears. "The clinic, eh? Always the clinic. You two still trying to play saviours?" He took a step forward, and his companions flanked him, closing the small space between them. The air grew thicker, heavy with unspoken threat. Lia clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The taste of dust in her mouth was suddenly overpowering. The scent of old oil and rust seemed to intensify, wrapping around them. She could feel Dominic's presence behind her, his breathing shallow and quick. This wasn't about equipment anymore. This was about them. About who had access, who controlled the scraps, who ruled the forgotten corners of the city. Their good intentions, pure as they felt, had led them right into a different kind of trap. And the hope she’d carried, fragile and persistent, felt like it was fracturing under the cold gaze of these men.

"Look," Lia said, her voice firmer than she expected, a surprising strength blooming from deep within her fear. "We don't want any trouble. We just came for what was promised to us."

The tall one just smiled, a slow, predatory stretch of his lips. He lifted the wrench, just a fraction. The spring sunlight, faint as it was, caught the dull sheen of the metal. He stepped closer, and Lia braced herself. She should be scared. She was scared. But it was also kind of… exciting? Stupidly exciting. God, why did she even climb here? This streak… reminds her of last summer, her brother yelling at her for breaking his telescope. And now… is that Perseus? Or Cygnus? Whatever. Bright. She likes bright. Everything. School. Her dad. Mom… she just… whatever. And then you look up…

"Promised?" he scoffed, his gaze raking over them. "Nothing's promised out here, sweetheart. Nothing at all." The hum of an old refrigerator in a forgotten corner of the warehouse seemed to pick up, a low, unnerving thrum beneath the tense silence. Lia noticed a small, dirty smudge on his jacket, just above the cuff. An almost irrelevant detail in the face of the immediate threat, but her mind latched onto it anyway. That green trail? Something with… oxygen, she thinks. Makes the sky all weirdly bright.

He leaned in, his voice dropping, almost a whisper. "Except maybe this."

He didn't make a move yet, but the implied threat hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Lia's gaze flickered to Dominic, then back to the men. Her heart hammered, a frantic drum against her ribs. She didn’t know if this was supposed to feel… anything. Warm? Comforting? She just… didn’t feel alone, not for a second. The options felt few, and none of them good.

Lia knew one thing: walking away was no longer an option. Not with these eyes on them, not with the clinic's need pressing in. Not with Dominic, hopeful and vulnerable, standing right behind her. The spring light filtering weakly through the high windows seemed to mock them, promising a world outside that was slowly waking, oblivious to the tableau of tense confrontation unfolding in the decaying heart of the city.