Animeleague

Chapter 1: Exile

My head swam. Flashes of light, bursting memories and existential pain rattled through my head as I tried to toss them aside. When I realized I was awake, I opened my eyes and quickly shut them again hard. So bright. Was it still happening? My breathing was labored and my head dizzy. I still felt motion, so perhaps the spell wasn’t done yet. I was being transported. Somewhere. This must still be in transition. My back itched, though. A minor annoyance among the dizziness and disorientation and ringing ears but I twisted in irritation. But I felt something solid around me. I had weight. That was earth beneath me. My head still pounded, but in my confused state I felt warmth on my skin and…grass. That was tall, dry grass. Was I laying down? I felt I had weight but I hadn’t yet figured out in what direction.

Attempting to get my perception under control, I took a deep breath, deliberately slowly. In… out… In… … *ACHOOO!*

Maybe breathing was too much ask. I breathed normally for a moment, sneezing a couple more times, but my head eventually settled. Behind my clenched eyelids I could tell it was very bright out. Brighter than any natural light I’d ever been in. It was hot, too. And getting hotter by the minute. I felt a bead of sweat roll down my side inside my black dress.

I was lying in grass. Wild grass, by the feel and sound of it as I brushed against it. My dress was probably ruined. Granted, it was far from being my favorite dress, but still. One does not lie in wild grass in lacy black dresses.

Maou. My watering eyes still clenched shut, I groped around me. I felt all around me. Grass and earth. My hand landed on something plush. I groped around it. My wallet. My wallet had fallen through with me. If I had functioning eyes right then I would have rolled them.

I needed to see. Clearing my throat through the grassy, hazy air, I heaved myself over onto my elbows. Crouching down into a circle of my arms, I opened my eyes. There was trampled grass. And dirt. The ends of my grey-brown hair trailed through it. I probably had grass in my hair too. Entirely disgraceful. Slowly I lifted my head, still keeping my eyes down. Blasting hell it was bright here.

I carefully looked around. All around me was shin-high grass, moving more from the insects than any breeze. I lifted an arm to shade my eyes and scanned carefully what I could see without lifting my head too much. Nothing. I turned somewhat frantically on my knees and looked behind me. Nothing. No. No no no no no I did NOT jump into the nexus just to get sent somewhere separate. But then my eyes spotted something black a few meters away. I turned my head down to the earth and crawled that way. When I came closer and looked up I breathed a sigh of relief. Maou’s body was sprawled prone in the earth. We were sent to the same place. Just about the only thing that went as planned today.

I took a breath—not a deep one; I had learned that lesson—and got up on my knees, then slowly stood up, shaking and falling back once, but I managed to stay up the second time. I cupped my hands around my eyes and squinted through them at the surrounding landscape. A wild grassland, it seemed. Very shallow hills. There were some small mountains in the distance. Stands of leafy deciduous trees dotted the fields here and there. A good distance away I spied a simple dwelling with smoke from an intentional fire rising from somewhere nearby. Far too distant to see me, were anyone looking. Assuming what lived there was human. Slowly turning, I then spied a town on the horizon. This was certainly a civilized world.

I sighed and looked down at my dress. The lace and frills were littered with stalks of grass and dusted down to the third layer with dirt smears. Absolutely ruined. Usefully armored though it may be, I couldn’t bear anyone to see me in this now. Maou… well, it’s not like I had any other clothes for the time being, so for the moment I must abide looking a mess in front of Master.

My eyes had somewhat adjusted to the brightness of this sky, but my eyes still dripped tears for all the shade of my hands. I looked at Maou lying still, and then went over and checked his pulse. Still animated, it seems. It would have surprised me otherwise, but still best to check. Blast, it was hot here.

I ran the fingers of one hand through my hair, picking grass out of it and making it as presentable as I could. When I was reasonably satisfied—under the circumstances—it was time for Maou to wake up. “Ma…” I cleared my scratchy throat. “Maou-sama… Maou-sama.”

He groaned. I waited, watching him patiently under two shading hands.

He slowly lifted a gloved hand to his head and gripped it by the front of his skull. Magic, then. Of course he could fix his own disorientation without the struggles that I had had. I noticed his mask lying amidst some stalks and walked over to pick it up. When I turned around Maou had lifted himself up and was dusting himself off. His eyes were closed. That was probably easier for him than dimming the sky—again, under the circumstances. Turning my head down to the ground so I could use both hands, I took one of his and put the mask into it. He accepted it and placed it on his head.

“How much time has passed?” he asked in his deep voice.

“It has been between 11 and 14 minutes since I awoke.”

“Between 11 and 14?”

“I could not track time accurately at first. I estimate I spent up to three minutes with temporal impairment.”

“I see.” Maou raised the hood of his thick black robe and looked around. His mask, mostly white but with tinted black shades, acted as protection from the sun, so he was faring better than I. “A civilized world. Low technology. Peaceful.”

“Yes, so it would seem.”

“What are your thoughts?”

“It is hot here. We need shade and water.”

“Even the dead require water,” Maou agreed, “yes.”

“We should approach the lone house from the copse of trees on its right. We can likely gain water, information, and clothes there,” I said.

“Clothes?” he turned toward me, his ebon-dark mouth an inquisitive line between the lower edge of his mask.

I blushed—a perennially unfortunate feature of this body. “Your clothes are perfectly presentable, Maou-sama. The state of mine, on the other hand, may raise questions and unwanted attention when it comes time to associate with the inhabitants of this world.”

Maou nodded. “That is true.”

I pursed my mouth unhappily.



We made our way along the shallow valleys so as to not be seen by the inhabitants of the house as we approached. At some point I could stop shading my eyes, though I still squinted. I noticed Maou was sweating almost as much as I was.
“Should you not cool yourself? You’re losing more water as you sweat.”

“I am missing my reagents. We’ll have to find more in this world.”

I nodded and made a mental note to keep an eye out.

When we reached the copse of trees we both crouched down in the blessed shade and watched the house. The smoke was from a small tanning fire surrounded by several hides from a medium-sized animal. A hunter lived here, then. The door was proportional for a human, though no sentient-looking being was in sight. I scanned the area around the house and spotted a pipe with a pump handle that must be a well. Around the house I caught a fluttering cloth and, changing position, I determined it to be laundry. I couldn’t tell without leaving the trees whether they were clothes, or, for that matter, whether they were anything to be satisfied with, but water was the first necessity. I returned to Maou, crouched, and waited.

There was no sign of any crops or any domesticated animals, which suggested the sentient beings of this world were at least not herbivores, and this particular individual or individuals probably subsisted on hunted animals. The walls of the house were made from wood and plaster, no clear sign of automated tools used in its construction. It was well made, and by hand, though the beams of the roof seemed to go clear through its length. Comparing the girth of the beam to the size of the door, it was reasonable to assume the inhabitants cooperated to make a single structure rather than building it alone, suggesting that what lived in this house was a social species and probably the same species that lived in the nearby town. The door appeared to be very thick and heavy wood, and while there were wood shuttered windows, they were all closed and looked like they bolted from the inside. It was a secure dwelling at least from medium-sized wildlife, though the lack of a perimeter wall suggested there was nothing bigger in this area that might pose a danger to inhabited structures.

We sat in the copse for twenty minutes, studying, not speaking, not moving.

“I think no one is here.” Maou said.

“I agree. I will get us water.”

I moved out from the trees towards the well, quickly but alert. When I reached the well I took the handle and gave it a few pumps before water came out. I drank with my hands. It was cool and fresh and very much what I needed. I noticed I had nothing to collect water in. Looking around again and seeing no one, I walked to the tanning fire and grabbed one of the smaller skins. The heat from the smoke forced me to hot-potato it a bit, but running water over it cooled it down. I formed it into a bag and held it while I filled it up, and returned to Maou. He accepted the bundled skin of water and drank greedily. When he finally lowered the skin, he sighed heavily.

Having been with Maou for 230 years, I knew what he was feeling. Anger, frustration. Rage, even. He did not show any of this on his face, but I could hear it on the edge of his sigh. He had been thrust into this world that neither of us knew anything about, alone except for his chief attendant, dumped unceremoniously into an empty field and now here we were stealing water and skins from a shack in the middle of nowhere. There was plenty to be angry about. I’m sure he was constantly thinking, ever since we woke up, how to return and offer retribution to the Heroes who had banished us here.

Maou handed me the skin and I drank the rest of the water in the sack. “I will try to find clothes,” I said.

I moved back to the house and crouched against the wall. I sat for half a minute, listening for any sound from inside. Hearing none, I moved to the corner of the house and looked around at the laundry. There were two lines of it. A towel, a rug, several shirts and trousers, and a dress. Also human-sized. Me-sized, from the look of it. I wondered whether the clothes of this world were gendered and if so, whether I could pick the right gender without seeing anyone first, but I decided the dress was as good a choice as any. I stepped out, took it from the line, and returned to the copse. Once among the trees, I held it up and looked it over. It was spun plant fiber, formed of 5 or 6 pieces, had an empire wasteline and clearly left space in the bust. At least I chose the gender correctly, then. It seemed to use simple dyes and neat stitching. Clearly peasant clothes. I told myself it was better than a potato sack. And I was right. I was.

I removed my wallet onto a tree stump, stripped off my outer dress, dropping it aside with a weighty thud. Armored dresses were atrocious. That one had been tolerable in appearance—but only by necessity even so. I checked my shift for stray plant matter, inspected the bruises and scrapes on my arms and legs, and then pulled the dreadfully simple peasant dress over my head, pulling it and adjusting it here and there.

The rough fabric of the dress contrasted not at all well with the silk shift. It was nothing to be happy about. But happy I shall be. For now. Under the circumstances.

I grabbed my wallet and… none. They weren’t there. This dress did not have pockets.

So far this was a VERY unpleasant world.

I took my small knife out of my wallet and cut a long strip from the animal hide. I formed it into a belt and tied my wallet in a cross pattern to make sure it was secure. It would have to do.

“Are you ready?” Maou asked, watching me. I had no particular qualms about him watching me dress. He did create me, after all. And hells knew I was more presentable at any stage of the process of changing than I was in the dirty grassy wreck of a dress I had changed out of.

“Yes. The town?”

Maou nodded.

And so we started for the town.

Chapter 2: The Town

It took two hours to reach the town, by which time the sky was beginning to haze into a golden twilight, making the light somewhat more bearable. Along the way I watched for anything that might be a magical reagent, but saw nothing of interest. There were toads, and small mammals that were too quick for me to see clearly. The tall grass was not a monoculture but the interspersed leafy weeds and occasional flower didn’t look especially promising.

The town did have a wall, but it was clearly designed for keeping out animals more than keeping out people.

As we approached the town, we had our first sight of people as a few individuals crossed the gates, people going outbound on a dirt road or inbound into the town. Humans. Some children. I thought some of the children were unusually rotund at first, but on some study I realized the rounder specimens all had an adult-like purpose in their walk.

“Three races so far,” Maou commented.

I furrowed my brow. “I see the humans and the short fat humanoids, but the third?”

Maou pointed to a different gate than I was looking at. I caught a glimpse of a hairy head of a humanoid figure with pointed ears atop its head just before it passed into the town. Most people were clearly human, though. We should blend in acceptably. Or at least I, in my peasant dress, might. The local dress appeared to be muted brown or linen or green, with some splashes of more exuberant dyes here and there. I looked at Maou’s cloak to compare. Pitch black, like moving darkness, draped from his deep hood to trailing at his ankles. Split for riding to show heavy black trousers beneath, with black leather boots. Given that his skin was also the naturally ebon black of death, the only other shade on him was his white mask covering the upper portion of his face. He would probably stand out regardless, but he could be taken as an exceptionally dark-skinned human with dramatic clothing choices. Most of the humans here were fair-skinned, but I had seen at least one darker-skinned specimen coming out of the town.

One of the three gates we could see from here had two guards with metallic armor sitting by the entrance not seeming to focus on anything. The other two gates were unguarded.

We decided to enter by an unguarded gate with the least traffic. Some people stared at Maou as we passed, and some hurriedly got out of the way or averted their eyes and hurried along, but none raised any kind of alarm. We were walking close enough that it was clear we were together, and so I clasped my hands in front of me as I walked and relaxed my face into a submissive naivete that should provide the image that I was a local servant or a guide pressed into some service by a foreigner. I noticed most women wore their hair tied behind them or in a bun or held with a fabric headband, which might make my own loose chin-length style seem outlandish. Nothing to do about it without standing out further. My ears picked up the voices around me and I decided it was no language I knew. As we trudged up the street on a slight incline, we passed what seemed to be storefronts. A few had written characters on their sign. There was a sandwich board outside with characters in a tabular layout. A price list? I did not know what the store sold, but I committed the image to memory for later study.

The dress style was mostly similar to what I had seen on the laundry line, though a few dresses had finer fabrics, richer dyes, and embroidery on the hems. Some bodices, some vests. It seemed to be a single style but not altogether tasteless. The men wore trousers and either homespun simple shirts, or for the somewhat richer, buttoned shirts with loose collars. All were long-sleeved, which made me wonder about the weather here. My peasant dress, now clearly the lowest class clothing that existed, was better than the black one I had arrived in, but it was still uncomfortably hot for me. Maou must have it worse.

Coming over the rise was a group of leather-armored people talking and laughing. Without looking at them directly I noted swords, knives, bows, a buckler. No apparent magic tools. Some metal plating on wrist guards. As they came closer I noticed one of the ones carrying a sword was a woman with short hair. She met my eyes before any of the others noticed us and I averted mine. The other woman said nothing, but as Maou drew closer the men stopped their conversation and the party eyed Maou as we passed, clearly wary and suspicious. We passed without incident, but I heard their party stop behind us and felt their eyes on our backs. Maou could kill them easily if it was necessary, but that would draw attention. I reinforced my guide impression and continued sedately and we crested the hill and passed over it without them calling after us.

“This place is more populous than was first apparent,” Maou said to me. It was the first words either of us had said since entering the town. I looked ahead to see what had prompted it, and was surprised. The town stretched miles before us. There were no especially large buildings that I could see—no fortresses, palaces, or towers. The town was made of wood framing with either plaster or stone walls, with ceramic or clay tiled roofs of a neutral dirt-brown color that was likely unaltered. The population of this town was certainly well into the tens of thousands, perhaps up to a hundred thousand or more.

Maou stopped in the street, surveying the town. I waited next to him while he thought.

“I must meditate.” He turned his head towards me. “Gather information,” he commanded.

I waited a moment, looking at him. He closed his eyes, concentrating.

“Maou-sama.”

He opened his eyes and looked at me again.

“We should secure a private location for you to meditate. You attract attention here.”

He stared at me unmoving, clearly chewing on that thought in his mind. “Very well. Have you determined where to find the local ruler?”

I sighed. “Let’s find a traveler’s inn. There are clearly travelers here,”—we had seen as much from watching the gates—“so there must be a place for them to stay.”

Maou left the direction to me, and so thinking that the busier guarded gate must connect to a main road, I led us on a path to intersect it. I found the road as anticipated, and I waited on a street corner, idly watching passersby. I picked out the locals from the sparse travelers from clothing, equipment, and purpose in gait, and thus found the inn a few blocks away towards the city center. We made our way towards it. The crowd was dense enough here to overhear our speech, so I kept close to Maou and said quietly, “I will secure our lodgings if you will wait outside.” Maou said nothing, which meant he left it to me. He stood aside on the stone porch of the inn that sat directly underneath its second and third floors, and I entered the establishment with a timid, forced-friendly half smile deliberately placed on my expression that hopefully said ‘uncomfortable but doing my best’. The interior was a tavern with round tables, but I saw stairs in back that undoubtedly led to rooms.

I approached the large female innkeeper behind the bar counter. She smiled at me and spoke a fairly lengthy string of words. I made sure to memorize each of them in the back of my mind, though I put on an apologetic face and mimed that my ears were nonfunctioning. She seemed to understand with a surprised and pitied expression. She raised her hands and haltingly offered me some gestures, clearly unsure and unpracticed but apparently there was a sign language in this world. I wilted—not altogether falsely, and she sighed and the pity in her eyes deepened.

I put two and two fingers walking on the countertop. Two people. Head on sleeping hands. Sun moving overhead, three fingers. Two guests, three nights. The woman gestured in a way that I noticed was writing the numeric characters in the air before me. The price. I retrieved my wallet and fished out a silver coin and hesitatingly handed it to her with a questioning look. The woman looked at it, puzzled as she inspected the Maou’s Eye engraving on it, but she seemed to shrug and accepted it, putting it into a pouch in her apron. She gave me the same sun moving overhead and held up four fingers. Apparently I had purchased four days lodging. She wiped her hands on a rag and led me to the stairs and two a room on the second floor with two beds. I thanked her with another smile and nod. She asked if I—or we—would eat. I nodded and held up two fingers again and opened my wallet. She waved it away and patted my hand as she left the room.

I smirked to myself. Complete success.

The woman was nowhere to be seen when I brought Maou in and led him up the stairs. A few tavern guests stared as he passed, but it seemed to be less pointed here at the traveler’s inn.

I closed the door behind us. “We have this room for four days. She believes me to be deaf and incapable of speech. The proprietor will bring us at least one meal, presumably either now or later tonight. I will begin collecting information after she brings it to us.”

Maou nodded. “This will do.” He sat on the floor and began meditating.

Over the next three days I traversed the town and learned what I could. The first night, however, I found a clothing store. I saw fine linens and silks and velvets, still in the local style but clearly extravagant and not for everyday wear. I was tired of wearing a dress for the time being though, and the dresses here did not have pockets, so my first purchase was fine linen trousers, dark blue, black velvet short boots with a slightly raised heel, a billowy white silk off-the shoulders blouse with a leather bodice laced with thick cotton string, and some hair clips to pin up my hair in a closer approximation of the local style. I had looked at myself in the mirror and approved with a jaunty smile. I would stand out. But it would have to do. Capable women should stand out. The clothes cost me two silver coins. I had plenty of silver; I hadn’t tried to use the gold coins yet—I should learn the language before finding a way to exchange all of our money for the local currency.

The silver coin was the smallest denomination I had, and it also apparently had bought me unlimited cups of tea at a café a mile from the inn, as whenever I went back there now the waiter, a middle-aged balding man brought me tea and some small sandwiches and waved away any further payment. The café was open-air in a busy commercial area and frequented by plenty of people, and so it served as my place to learn the spoken language. This, and by testing the words at other neighborhoods of the town, allowed me to get a basic grasp of its sentence structure and basic grammar. The price listing signboard that I had in memory from the first day as well as the shops here and there gave me an understanding of the numeral system by the second day. A base 10 system that worked by adding lines to a symbol to multiply and add up to 100 and then strung with others to multiply and add further. I learned the words for them too, and from watching transactions their correspondence to the local currency. A small bronze coin was the one most often used and the one I was missing. Later on the second day I managed to exchange one of my silver for twenty bronze. I wasn’t sure at that point whether I had been ripped off, so I was careful in how I spent it. I suspected I wasn’t, though. Based on my experience at the inn and the cafe, so far this world seemed naively honest.

On the third day I learned that the town was Hasith, the territory Velen, which was in turn part of ‘the kingdom’. There were two people of political significance to the inhabitants of Hasith, that was the ‘Prefect’ and the ‘Ambassador’, and I never could understand which one commanded the town guard—at times it seemed they both did. Of lesser importance was the guilds. There was a merchants guild and a farmers guild and an adventurers guild. Apparently there were other guilds, but not here. The merchants guild had the most impressive building, four stories of well-maintained and clean plaster that took most of a block in the center of town. The farmers guild was in the north of town, and was a sprawled one story building that took up three times the land but most of it was smelly storehouses. The adventurers guild was the saddest of the lot, a small wood and stone building that was clearly re-used from some prior purpose or two before the adventurers guild had claimed it.

Humans were 80% of the population of Hasith, followed by Dwarves. The animal-eared race we saw when we arrived were Beastkin, but they weren’t populous here. I had five sightings of them, including the glimpse on the first day, and they all had the gray fur, tail, and head of a wolf. Their passing wasn’t especially remarked on—if anything, Maou’s walk through the streets on the first day caused more commotion than any Beastkin, though Maou's world did not have them, so it was a curiosity to me.

I found at least three apothecaries and alchemical stores, though I gathered they were primarily medicinal. I bought samples of all I could find and brought them back to Maou and he inspected each one. He kept a few, so there was apparently at least some magical energy in this world, but most he gave back to me to discard and even what he kept was clearly nothing terribly interesting in any magical way. And so far, there was no evidence of any magic…anywhere. That was not good. Maou did not have to tell me that without a decent source of magical energy, getting back to our world would be very difficult indeed. The Heroes had chose this world for a reason, and perhaps that was it. Or at least one of them.
After feeling confident enough in the naturalness of my speech, I explained to a surprised innkeeper that my ears had been healed. I paid room and board for a fifth night, with some local bronze for good measure. I knew she could tell we weren’t ordinary travelers, but it seemed she was more or less content to house and feed us. Maou never spoke to her as he was always busy meditating when she brought him meals. Once the conversational barrier had lifted between her and myself, I gathered that she assumed he was a priest or monk of some far off land. Religion. Interesting. There was no religion in this town that I had seen up to this point, but it apparently existed in this world. I reinforced this assumption. Others’ assumptions were always the best lies.

After that conversation I brought two plates of lamb covered in mushroom gravy with bread and steamed vegetables up to the room.

I sat the plate near Maou, sat on my bed, and ate. The food of this world was more than acceptable. The lamb was gamey and the sauce provided plenty of flavor. Over the course of three days sleeping in the same room with Maou, and my having to put on a front in view of the innkeeper, we had settled into a somewhat more casual relationship than we had in Maou's world, and Maou seemed to accept this with the drastic change in conditions. In his world, I and some of his other closest subordinates would sometimes eat with him for formal dinners, but otherwise I would never eat in his presence.

“This world is sealed by death.”

I chewed my lamb and processed that. “The nexus we came through…”

“A tunnel created for the purpose of sending us here. It still exists and seems a newly permanent part of this world, but its neck is sealed with death energy. A localized seal, but its effects permeate this world.”

I knew enough of magic theory for that to make sense. Death energy was the animating energy of both Maou and I, and thus the only energy we could manipulate and expend from within our bodies—I didn’t have any talent with it, so my body’s energy was simply something Maou had configured to animate me, and apart from keeping me breathing, speaking, thinking, and shitting, was useless. Maou, on the other hand, was quite a skilled death magician. The fact that the seal on this world was created with death magic also made a morbid amount of sense. Maou’s own power could only strengthen it. The only magic that could weaken the seal was life magic, and if Maou touched life energy it would only cancel out and slightly weaken him in the process. From the Heroes perspective, it was the best possible way to seal Maou.

“How many corpses did they have to dig up to put a seal on an entire world?” I mused, idly waving my fork in the air.

Maou gave a wry snort. “A significant amount, to be sure.” Maou sighed, and took off his mask and set it beside him. His golden eyes looked up at the open window, catching the light that filtered through the summer haze in bright, sparkling amber. Against his black skin it was especially striking. I had not seen yellow eyes in this world, so he would have to keep the mask on when he went out. Not that the supreme demon lord could offer simple mortals the grace of his bared eyes anyway. That was a privilege for those who served him closely.

“Have you seen any evidence of magic here?” Maou asked, still looking at the window.

“No,” I answered softly. Then I firmed my voice and spoke again. “This is clearly a small town in a region that is insignificant both economically and militarily. The nearest major city is a week by carriage. It’s possible we could find magic users there.”

Maou shook his head. “Magic is a natural energy. If anything there should be more magic in the wilderness than there is in a population center.”

“This isn’t exactly wilderness, either,” I explained. “It’s settled. Domesticated. You saw the plains outside. No dangerous magical creatures roam there. This area belongs to humans and humans alone.”

Maou nodded. “Perhaps that’s the problem.”

Just then a loud knock sounded on our door. I had registered heavy footsteps on the stairs moments earlier but that alone wasn’t unusual here. That was clearly not the innkeeper’s knock—and she usually announced herself as well—so this knock definitely was unusual. I got off the bed as Maou picked up his mask and put it on, remaining seated on the floor facing away from the door as I approached it.

“Who is it?” I asked through the closed door.

“Town guard,” a rough male voice answered. I remembered back to the sounds of the footsteps on the stairs and concluded there were at least three.

“Is there a problem?” I asked.

“Just want to talk. Heard you were out of town travelers.”

I looked back at Maou. Since I was speaking the local language he wouldn’t understand the conversation and there was no way to consult with him in our language without the guards hearing.

“Yes, we’re travelers. A priest and a helper. We came for healing.”

No response.

“Is there a problem?” I repeated.

“Open the door. We will talk face to face.”

I thought, but there was nothing for it. I opened the door and faced them, adopting a look of simple inquisitive obedience. That might have been spoiled already by my delay, though.

The guards didn’t give me any time to size them up before the entered the room—there was indeed three of them. They didn’t make any particularly threatening moves, two simply stood near Maou’s bed and one stayed leaning casually in the doorway. They all wore metal-plated armor that I could see was mostly hardened leather underneath the plates.

At their entrance, Maou glided upwards to stand facing them impassively, his mask hiding his eyes.

The speaker was a grizzled man with a thick handlebar mustache and unkempt eyebrows. The other two were slightly younger—the other in the room was skinny but clearly used to moving in his armor, and the one in the door was obviously hardened muscle.

“So,” mustache said, “where are you folks from?”

My geography knowledge so far consisted of some nearby counties but I knew they wouldn’t believe that. “Sarsinay,” I replied. That was a location in Maou’s world, so Maou would know I was giving them an origin.

Mustache frowned. “I’ve never heard of that. Where is that?”

I shrugged. “It’s across the sea. Tiny country. Nobody ever really goes there. Why do you wish to know?”

Mustache and skinny eyed me. I couldn’t see beefy behind me. Maou could, though, and he was much more dangerous than I was. My predicament was to avoid Maou killing them. Given that Maou hadn’t yet, he probably understood this as well. Probably.

“Professional curiousity.” Mustache replied. “We get two-bit adventurers out this way, and we get traders.” He looked at Maou. “We don’t get priests.” He looked at me. “And people don’t come here for healing neither.”

I smiled. “I’m glad we did, though. The apothecary on north street was able to heal me.”

He frowned at me, and then at Maou. “Does he ever speak?”

“He’s taken a vow of silence.”

“A what now?” the man looked confused.

“He cannot speak until the heavens give him leave again,” I said in the most flowery language I could pull from this dialect.

The two men looked doubtful. I felt a tingling sensation along my spine. Power. Mustache and skinny shook their heads and exhaled, suddenly showing signs of fatigue but they fought through it. Mustache put a hand on his sword. “Whatever. You two are coming to the manor. The Ambassador will want a word with you.”

I cocked my head innocently. “Why?”

Mustache shook his head again and snarled, apparently fighting exhaustion with aggression. “Because the Ambassador doesn’t like surprises, and you two are a surprise. Now come on you two. Out the door. Move it. Now.” He gestured at Maou with his off hand but Maou caught the man’s wrist, glove against gauntlet. Mustache looked shocked and tried to wrench his hand away but Maou’s arm didn’t budge. This would not end well. It was up to me to put a stop to it. While skinny and mustache were watching from threats from Maou, I moved quickly to put a hand on top of Maou’s fist, lowering it gently.

As Maou released the man’s hand, I explained apologetically, “I’m sorry, I haven’t been completely truthful with you.”

“You don’t say,” the man snarled, but I quickly continued.

“We ARE adventurers. We were traveling through Nenst county, coming back from a quest, when I contracted an uncommon disease.” At this, the guardsmen stiffened and leaned away from me. I smiled reassuringly. “Not to worry—that is what has been healed. But, now that it has been healed, we could use additional funds for our journey back to Tresden and were planning on visiting the guild branch tomorrow to see if our services could be useful to the town here.”

Mustache rubbed his chafed wrist and glared at Maou. “Is that so. Awfully fancy lies for that tale, though.”

“Diseases brought in by travelers is surely something the Ambassador wouldn’t approve of. It’s a good thing I was treated quietly, wouldn’t you think?”

Mustache blinked and swallowed sickly. Clearly Maou was still exuding death energy to weaken them. “It’s slim pickings this time of year. Work’s cheap any time of year, here. But fine. The adventurers guild can deal with you. Rand, Millet, we’re done here.” And the men filed out without an apology.

After closing the door I turned back to Maou. He stared at me wordlessly and I stared back for a good minute after the men’s footsteps faded from the inn porch below.

“If they must die, it should be after we leave town.” I said finally.

Maou sniffed. “Trifling vermin. What did they want?”

“There’s a local leader called the Ambassador. Apparently our presence was called to his attention as an anomaly here.”

Maou became curious. “A magic user, perhaps?”

“I don’t think so. I think he simply has people informing him about unusual people in town.”

Maou nodded and started to turn to the window.

“Also…” I started, and Maou looked at me again. “We’re adventurers now.”

“Well? Aren’t you going to take it?”

The youth’s hands wavered over the golden brooch. His fierce but troubled eyes pierced the complacent ones of the young, extravagantly dressed woman in the chair in front of him. “Aren’t you going to stop me?”

She looked out the window again without concern. The alarm was ringing in the background, and Ren could hear the guards coming for him. “Not particularly,” she said in the same unconcerned manner. “It makes no difference to me.”

Ren looked down at the wedding brooch. “Who gave this to you?”

“My fiancée.”

Ren felt his gut wrench. The guards coming down the hall grew louder.

He was caught off guard again by the young woman turning her head towards him. Her eyes had a dull, blank stare. “They’re coming.”

Ren gritted his teeth. This woman really wasn’t concerned that a delinquent had entered her father’s home, nor that he was going to steal her precious wedding brooch. She didn’t seemed concerned about anything.

“Protect Lady Theresa!” the guards yelled and the door burst open.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself as he grabbed the brooch and stuffed it in his shirt hurriedly. Guards in khaki military uniforms came rushing into the room. Ren ran towards them recklessly, jumped, and grabbed hold of the brass electric chandelier. Their guns waved through the air where he swung over, but his flight was short lived as a moment later the chandelier came loose from the ceiling and smashed against the floor, catching a few guards in the fall and causing him to tumble out of the room. Ren quickly got up and began running, ensuring that he still had the brooch tucked into his shirt. The guards followed.
Ren reached the end of the wide, lavish hall and kicked open the window shutters and flew through the gabled opening into the open air. Flailing about in midair, he haphazardly landed on all fours on the sandstone and steel roof of a building across the alleyway.

Stumbling up, he continued to make his getaway. The commotion behind him melted into the scene as Ren melted into the city.




The streets of the Okhan district of Mariah City thronged with people of all types between the endlessly tall buildings built mostly of iron and concrete, burnt out neon signs hanging lethargically over the peoples’ heads. The air was hot and slightly humid and smelled of meat frying on battered iron plating under makeshift fires in the stalls on either side of the alley. The sun was nowhere to be seen even here on the 10th level, but the light was cast in a warm, neutral ambience through the maze of dirty streets and wide rusty bridges. The dust, steam, and smell of people and food made for an oppressive atmosphere as if being forcefully immersed in the life of the city against which resistance was futile. The lively buzz of the crowd on the ground on this level mixed with that of the beat of drums somewhere down on the ground where street performers played. Men sat in circles calling their bets and watching the dice fly while women walked with their armed sons, their faces covered in the cloth of abayas and in between them the drifters, the punks, the traders and migrant workers.

Ren ran a hand through his shock of black hair and wiped the sweat from his forehead as he walked down the busy street. He was a young man of average height for fifteen, with tanned skin and a natural mean glare in his eyes and brow. He was wearing a somewhat dirty white sleeveless jersey and worn-down black board shorts that had long since faded into gray. To everyone passing by, Ren was just another drifting punk, which was by no means far from accurate. The Golden Brooch he had stolen from the wealthy estate lay nestled in the top hem of his pants underneath the jersey. He walked along at a moderate pace, not bothering with the sights; this was his city. He knew it well enough already.
A slight disturbance in the crowd behind him caused Ren to turn around. People in white priests’ robes were loosely grouped and questioning the commoners they approached. He scowled and began to walk at a faster pace.

Just then a big arm was thrown around his shoulders. “Hey, bro, mind if we have a little chat?” He looked up while walking to see a larger man with a blond mohawk smiling down at him.

“Aw, bro, don’t give me that look now. C’mon, I’m your cuz. Hey, listen…”

“Not interested,” Ren spat and threw the arm off his shoulder.

“Now now, cuz,” Mohawk patted and circled around to face Ren. Ren stopped and glared, his normal expression. Mohawk gave a big grin as he punched Ren playfully. “Look here, bro, I got a good deal for ya. I’m looking for some strong guys, ah, you know, moving business.”

“Not interested.” Ren shoved the guy aside and continued walking. Go be social somewhere else, conman.

“Man, bro, you’re pretty harsh. I’m lettin’ you in on a deal here… Hey, see that bridge up there?”

Ren begrudgingly looked up. Throughout the city of Mariah the skyscrapers of iron and lime were strung with makeshift cable bridges on the higher levels, forming the canopy of the enormous metal trees that made up the city. Mohawk was pointing to a bridge roughly on the 15th level. It was a main thoroughfare, wider than most. “Y’see,” he said, again putting his arm around Ren, “the crew that controls that bridge isn’t very nice, and we have some goods to get over to this building here. What do you say?” Ren scowled. The last thing he needed was to be pulled into a gang war.

A deep voice sounded behind them. “Praise the creator and give thanks for life and order!”

Ren gritted his teeth and glanced back at the white-clad man. To be stopped by the missionaries was the one thing worse than being pulled into a gang war. For Ren, anyway. Mohawk fumbled for a moment then bowed apologetically. “Ah, you know, I just remembered I left my wife and kids at home. Bless the creator and all that stuff.” With that, he ran off to leave Ren with the man carrying a straight wooden staff adorned at the top with two small bells and a feather. The Municipal Missionaries wore long white and gold-embroidered robes with similar head covering that concealed their entire face and eyes. The man bowed slightly and gave his staff a single tap on the ground. “Many blessings to you, young man. The Creator wishes for those willing to strive in his name. Will you take up the staff in thanks for the life you have been given?”

Don't you freaks have anything better to do with your time? “Not interested,” Ren spat back in a tone not unlike he gave Mohawk. He shifted his body, trying to hide his right arm from view.

“Young man, what is your occupation?”

“Moving business,” Ren replied, the first thing that came to mind. He was more tense than in the encounter with Mohawk.

“Do you live with the utmost gratitude towards the benefactor of life?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Then may you walk in peace, young man.”

“You too,” Ren said and moved to leave. He held as much of his right arm in front of him as he could as he walked away, trying to sense the presence of the Municipal Missionary. As far as he could tell, the robed man had not moved or looked away. Soon after deciding he should turn into a building to get away, he heard a reaction behind him and faltered.

“Infidel!”

“Shit.” Ren started running. Was the entire district out to get him today?

The group of Municipal Missionaries had gathered and were running after him. Ren ducked into a side street. Cries of “capture the infidel” resounded behind him as he ran through the dark alleyway. A group of missionaries appeared in front of him, blocking the exit. Ren climbed onto a dirty sandstone façade at the edge of the building and launched himself into the clotheslines to pull himself up on the 11th. His triumphant smirk was broken, however, by the golden brooch coming loose from his shirt while he hung from the wire clothesline. In a panic he hung back down and tried to grab it before it fell to the ground, but as his fingers closed around it, a spinning white figure appeared to his left and his face connected with the wooden staff. Ren’s body flew into the second group of missionaries on the bridge below. He grimaced at the pain in his face and attempted to get up and run. Ren burst out into the open street but soon after collapsed under a flying kick and the weight of a missionary pinning him down with sandaled feet. Soon the other missionaries circled around him, and Ren was trapped.

“Ungrateful being! You must repent before your Creator and ask for forgiveness!” The white-clad men stood around him like a cage, the orange sky just barely shining through the opening at the top of the column.

“It’s just a freaking arm!” Ren shot back. "I lost it in an accident."

“Those who defile the body given to them by the Creator must learn respect and gratitude for his benevolence!”

Ren gritted his teeth as the side of his face was driven into the dusty concrete. His grip tightened on the brooch in his right hand and realized the danger of doing so too late. A missionary in the circle used his staff to whip over Ren’s hand and open it, letting the golden wedding brooch fall free.

“So you’re a thief as well!”

“Bastards, I bought that fair and square.”

“You will come to the temple for judgement!”

The Municipal Missionaries began to pick him up. Just then, one of them cried out. Ren opened his eyes when he heard what sounded like the missionaries fighting one or more people but couldn’t see. He felt the weight on his back fly off and tried to lift himself, but a foot stomped down on his back again and he fell; his sense of freedom quickly turned anticlimactic as his face hit the dirt again. “You stay right there.” Ren sighed in exasperation—but also relief—at the woman’s firm commanding voice, and quietly waited for her to beat up the rest of the missionaries. If anyone was both strong and rebellious enough to challenge the martial art skills of the Municipal Missionaries, it was her.

A dust cloud quickly formed and soon after Ren could hear the fleeing footsteps of the missionaries. “The Creator will punish you, Infidel!”

As the dust cleared the woman’s legs appeared in front of Ren’s face that was still on the ground. She squatted down and stared at the boy unsympathetically. Ren looked up to see the tough-faced crimson-haired woman in her twenties. She was wearing black shorts and a gray tank top, but tattoos covered her body from her thighs up to her torso and neck. “For fuck’s sake, Ren, how many times do I have to pull your ass out of the fire?”

The disgruntled black-haired youth exhaled, sending a tiny dust cloud twirling about her feet. “Hey, sis.”







“They give you crap about your arm?” Mary asked Ren back in their small run-down apartment room.

“Yeah.”

“I swear, kid, you need to wear a long sleeve shirt over that.” Mary came out of the shower wearing nothing but the same shorts, drying her hair with a towel. “The cracks are visible, you know,” she said, looking at him apathetically.

“You want me to steal a shirt, too, then?” he said in a low, critical but self-depreciating tone. Ren was busy cleaning the inside of his right arm, which he had detached and was now running a dirty rag over the mechanical junctions.

Mary gave the object a questionable grimace. “I didn’t think they’d be that desperate. Pigs.” She walked over to the balcony. The apartment was on level 30—the neighborhood didn’t connect much at this height, so the upper levels tended to be where most people lived. The sunset was poking through the tops of the taller buildings to shed a golden orange light into the room while silhouetting the rising towers surrounding their own with no semblance of organization or planning. Some were completely built at once, some were hodgepodged together, adding one shack on top of the other, building the height of the tower gradually over time, and many were both, building on top of the iron structures where the original building stopped. Looking across the ways, the siblings could watch other people shaking laundry outside their shacks, naked children running across the rooftops, or old men sitting on balconies like their’s in folding chairs drinking tea.

Mary didn’t care about being topless in plain view from their balcony. Even if she had inhibitions, the tattoo covered her entire chest anyway, often appearing as a tight-fitting black shirt. On her back the focus was a grand array of dogs, seven total each with a simple traditional form, forming a semicircle up her back with the capstone of the arch being the large center wolf in solid black. The dogs had smooth, slender snouts thrusting up to the moon, howling and around them splayed an explosion of tribal rays. Mary had always told Ren they were foxes, but having never seen a fox, Ren wouldn't have known either way.

The room was bare except for the dresser, a bucket of water, and two sleeping mats next to each other. The balcony was normally separated from the room by a sliding wooden door but now the room was left in the open air. There was no railing on the balcony, and the balcony itself was simply makeshift iron plating sticking out the side of the building, but it worked. Mary stood on the balcony, silhouetted with her hands on her hips against the setting sun. “I’ll take care of everything else, then.” Ren gave an assenting grunt. Mary glanced back at him. “You’re moody.”

“No I’m not,” he answered tonelessly.

She half-laughed and smirked and turned back towards the city. She was silent for a moment.

“Hey, Ren.”

Ren grunted.

“You want to go visit mom?”

Ren looked up. Mary still stared out over the city, holding her arms against her. Her damp hair drifted in the slight breeze. Ren looked down at his arm, decided it was good enough, and reconnected it. “I don’t like graveyards.”

Mary turned around and walked back into the room pulling the wooden door to the balcony closed and drying her hair again. “Don’t be such a baby. Come with me.”

Ren turned over and lay on the floor. “Not interested.”

She looked at him discerningly. “What’s gotten into you today? Fine, I’ll go alone.” She got up, grabbed her shirt, and began to walk out. Ren turned and watched her go, turning off the light as she pulled the shirt over her head, closed the door, and left him in the dark.

Ren sat there for a moment, then got up and went to the balcony. He opened the door a crack and stepped outside.

His target today had caught him off guard. He had been in this line of work for nearly three years now. His sister, longer. And most of their jobs weren’t quiet ones. Thieves such as them come to expect panic, struggle, even crying as their victim’s belongings are taken away, but that girl just sat there. It was a wedding brooch, too. Of course just sitting there and letting Ren take it would be ideal and should at least make Ren feel less dissatisfied with taking it, but somehow it didn’t feel right.

Ren looked towards the area where the estate was. She had looked to be in her 20’s—older than him. He didn’t know what about her bothered him, just that it didn’t feel right to take the brooch from her. He scratched his head and looked down at the city scene below where people were milling about like ants. It wasn’t normal to feel remorse for the people you stole from, especially if they have no qualms about it to begin with.

He stood up, intending to do something but suddenly indecisive. It’s not like a thief often returned to the scene of the crime.

“Tch, whatever.”





Theresa heard a rap on her window. She stopped writing for a moment, and a few seconds later she heard it again. She set down her pen carefully, and glided to the window with her hands clasped in front of her. After seeing Ren hanging off of a ledge across the way, she opened it and stood there, her gloved hand on the sill.

Ren stared at the woman, unable to find something to say. He had the same menacing look on his face as he always did, and she had the same blank look as the first time he met her, but now that he saw it again he saw a different light in it—it wasn't apathy. It was focus. Disdain for the world, maybe, but definitely focus. She stared at him as if demanding to know why he was bothering her. Her hair was a radiant golden, and tied neatly into some sort of arrangement in the back. Her dress was a heavily embroidered and ornamented red and gold.

“Well? What is it?”

She didn’t seem all that surprised to see Ren again, which was more oddity. Ren himself was surprised. What is it? Good question, lady. “…Who are you?” he managed after a moment.

“Hardly anyone that concerns you, I should think. If you have nothing to say, I have work to do.”

“Wait.”

The woman glared at him. That was definitely disdain. “What do you want?”

Ren hesitated and looked away at another tall building. “Why didn’t you try to resist me earlier?”

“I felt no need to do so.”

“Why not?”

“Something such as jewelry is of no importance.”

Ren gripped the rain gutter and pulled himself into a standing position. “Don’t fuck with me, woman!” he yelled, snarling at her. “I may be a kid, but I know what that was!”

Just then Ren felt the presence of someone else near her that curled his hair in some inexplicable way. “It was but a worldly trinket,” a deep voice beside her said, “…boy.” A tall, dark figure materialized in the shadows of the window beside her.

She looked up, unsurprised. “Dear.”

Ren flattened himself against the wall. The man was tall, taller than average, and had a fair face with long, flowing black hair. His lips were poised in a confident smile and his eyes were piercing yellow. From the way his hand held her back, he wasn’t her father. The fiancée she mentioned earlier, then. Despite his words, this man felt dangerous. Though they were separated by at least 10 meters and between them a chasm dropping down to the ground-level street, Ren felt the man’s overbearing presence as if he were standing over him, ready to command his fate with a snap of his fingers. It was unnatural. Ren breathed heavily and felt for the window to his right. He wanted to back up, to go back inside the building to at least have the benefit of the sill between him and this strange otherworldly man.

“Boy,” the man said. “Would you like to see the end of the world?”

Ren couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move, nor take his eyes off the man, as if tendrils of consciousness had gripped his heart in place. The man smiled and narrowed his eyes playfully.

Finally Ren broke free and launched himself through the window, stumbling and tripping, leaving the couple behind.

Theresa turned to the man. “So serious for a street urchin. You enjoy it, don’t you?”

He looked down at her, smiling inscrutably. “Forgive me. My bad habits get the better of me. Now come. It’s almost dinner time.”



Ren ran from building to building through the city’s mid-levels, breathing heavily. Those people weren’t normal. They couldn’t be normal. What did the man mean, the end of the world? It was a joke. It had to be. Ren gritted his teeth. The man had made a fool of him. And here he was, running away like a scared rabbit.

Ren tripped on a pipe and hit his face hard on the ground. It stung. He tried to lift himself from the sand-covered, gritty rooftop that dug into his cheek. Tears obscured his eyes but the brown-orange blur of the twilight city was his least concern. He yelled in frustration, got up, and continued running. He was no longer running to get away, but running in shame. He tripped again, and braced himself for the impact. It didn’t come. He opened his eyes in fear as he realized he was falling.





“Red-Wolf Mary.”

Mary looked back but did not turn away from the gravestone. “Figures you’d be alive still. You look a lot dirtier than the last time I saw you.”

The man smiled defensively as he took off his black fedora, letting his mid length white hair flow freely. “Times have changed.”

Mary turned back to her mother’s grave. The graveyard on the outskirts of the city was bare, now nothing more than a desert with stones stuck in the ground. It blended well with the dusty barren wilderness in the midst of the sunset. The two figures stood on the dry ground like statues but for her dark red ponytail and his black coat blowing in the breeze.

“Can’t you see I’m enjoying myself here? Go away.”

He looked around. “So this is where she’s buried, huh? Never knew.”

“What do you care?”

“Aha, well I did make a few passes at her back in the day,” he replied, scratching his chin with a relaxed smile.

“I didn’t want to hear that.”

“Never went anywhere, of course." He dug out a half-smoked cigarette from his pocket and put it between his lips. "Always wondered who got into her bed,” he said still smiling. “The first and second times.”

She turned back and snarled at him. “What the hell do you want? Get lost already!”

He pushed a strand of white hair out of his eyes and looked into the sky. “They want you back.”

She calmed down and turned back towards her mother’s grave. “It’s got nothing to do with me. Beat it, you old mutt.”

“Oh, it’s got everything to do with you. You just don’t know it yet."

“Well granny can suck my ass. I’m not going back.”

“Granny’s dead.” Mary looked back at him, surprised. “You didn’t know? Been dead four years. Heh, you don’t know anything about what’s happened the last few years, do you? Everything’s changed, now.”

Mary was silent for a moment. “Who’s the fourth?”

“The sour one,” the grizzled man whispered loudly through a grin.

Mary shook her head. “Well she can suck my ass too.”

“You’ve been let on your own for…what, 8 years now? But I don’t think you have a choice this time.”

She stood up and smiled at him threateningly. “And if I say no, are you going to tie me up and carry me off?”

He shrugged, rolling his cigarette between his teeth. “That is why they sent me, probably.”

Her smile disappeared. “Excuse me,” Mary said and began to walk past him. “I have a little brother waiting for me.”

The man sighed, and then moved.

Mary reacted instantly, ducking and spinning to catch him in a backhand across the face. He dodged easily, the cigarette still poking out from an amused smile. He caught her arm on the reverse, and then the other before it connected with his ribs. She spun sideways to twist off his balance but he immediately let her go and then with lightning speed rushed his fist in, gripped the front of her tank and pulled her back. The tank ripped off her back, but it still sent her off balance and she caught herself before falling completely.

The man gave a slow whistle. “You really did.” He flexed his fist and walked towards her, smiling viciously. “Funny thing, that. For all you say it has nothing to do with you, you went and took the trouble to finish it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Mary breathed, wiping her scraped palm on her shorts. “It’s not for you. It’s sure as hell not for her.” She launched at him again, feinting with quick strikes with her left, then right, striking fast and low. He dodged all of them easily.

“Why aren’t you using it?”

Mary didn’t respond. She threw a punch at his face with her right hand and pulled it before connecting, throwing a fistful of sand with her left before her momentum carried her past him and she gripped his arm in passing, meaning to throw him to the ground. She felt the cloth of the jacket and the muscled flesh beneath…and then her grip shrunk and the sensation disappated, the jacket and arm dematerializing from her grip. She ground her teeth for a blow. It came exactly as expected, right to her gut. She doubled over and coughed.

He sighed. “You’ve gotten weak.” She threw herself back from his voice and readied herself for another attack but his voice wasn’t in the right place. His hand grabbed her head unexpectedly from behind and shoved it forcefully onto the dirt, where she lay prone. The dust on the ground filled her sinuses, and her head swam. “We can do this all day, Mary, but you know where it ends.”

“What do you want?” she strained against his grip, but it was impossibly strong.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s not me that wants you. It’s just me coming to pick you up. That's not to say I'm not enjoying this, though." His grip released but she lay there. She knew, defeatedly, that she couldn’t hope to fight him. The man pick his hat up off the ground and lit another cigarette. She belatedly felt a small triumph over somehow getting him to drop the last one. After taking a slow puff he turned to her and knelt down. He gave her a cheery smile. “Let’s go on a date, Red-Wolf.”

“Fuck off.”

“If it’s your brother you’re worried about, don’t worry: I’ll take care of him.”

She scrambled up and face him again, breathing heavily. “Don’t you fucking touch him.”

“Mary, please. This is hard enough as it is.”

She knew she couldn’t beat him with her fists alone. She slowed her breathing and felt her spirit lower itself to the earth. In the space of an instant her expression relaxed into blankness as she felt time begin to slow. The man must have seen what she was doing, though, because she registered him moving towards her quickly. She moved to block his strike, but he was suddenly no longer there. She felt her consciousness fade without even wondering what had happened.






Ren awoke in a dark place. The first thing to hit was the throbbing headache. He gritted his teeth in pain and struggled to move around. The ground was damp, and the air smelled of bread rotting away in still water. His eyes were slow to adjust, but eventually he could see ripples of light playing over a stone ceiling. He bolted upright, and immediately felt it in his head. His eyes had to adjust again.

“The sewer?” he muttered to himself.

Just then something landed near him and rolled into his leg. A dirty dinner roll. Ren looked to his right. Across the water channel something was crouched over the food it was ravishing in both hands. Ren stared at it, unsure what to make of it.

“Eat it, thief.”

For a moment Ren was taken aback but rebutted with an angry scowl. “Shut up,” he retorted at the feral girl—boy? It was difficult to tell from the mid-high voice and impossible in the dark. “and I’m not a thief.”

The other turned his or her eyes on Ren, eyeing him with the same fierce expression while still chewing his food. “Then what are you?” Their eyes almost seem to glow in the dark, and Ren drew back cautiously.

Ren looked at the small loaf of bread on the ground but dismissed it. His head hurt, and he needed to get back home. His sister was definitely pissed by now. He looked around.

The fact that he was in the sewers was nothing to be disputed, but he saw no immediately obvious way back to the surface. His eyes half clenched as if to keep the headache away, he looked around, analyzing the situation. The current waterway extended several hundred feet before turning, and both forward and behind him, there were three connecting waterways to the sides. The murky water flowed by sluggishly, the ripples causing wavy reflections of light to be cast upon the arched stone ceiling. The air moved even slower than the flow in the canal, and the smell of rotting bread and still water accumulated around him. A dim ambience from no apparent source made the features in the dark just barely visible. He had never gone down into the sewer system, but logically it must be like a maze, running in all directions beneath the city. Then he began to notice the shapes around him. Foregoing the search for a way out, he surveyed his general locale. A wooden bridge spanned the canal over to where the beast-like apparition was still eating on top of one of several wooden crates that were strewn about, along with a few chests, some blankets, and various compiled junk haphazardly jumbled around on both sides of the waterway upon the concrete floor. Ren moved his hand and felt a blanket beneath him. For the first time he wondered why he was here, of all places.

He heard voices. He tried to get up but his leg wasn’t responding well. He hadn’t realized his legs were injured too. The voices were approaching, echoing off the walls of the sewer. It sounded like children. Looking behind him, he could see a light growing from one of the side passageways. He slowed his breathing to listen. There were three voices. One young rambunctious boy of roughly seven laughing and chattering excitedly, an occasional shy voice of a girl around a similar age, and a moderate, level headed older boy in his teens. The pace of their footsteps was comfortable and familiar, and they weren’t on guard. The light grew closer. Ren knew he couldn’t go anywhere quickly with his malfunctioning leg, so he waited for them to appear.

“Maki!” the younger boy called. Ren heard one of the smaller set of footsteps on the concrete pick up pace. A shadow in the dark burst free from the side tunnel, jumped on the wooden bridge once, and stood in front of the crate Ren’s animalistic savior was eating on. The small rowdy boy seemed not to notice Ren in the dark. But slowly light was spread into the clearing as the older boy and young girl entered, carrying a lantern.

“In the dark again, Maki? You’ll ruin your eyes, mate.”

Maki snorted, his meal uninterrupted—Ren decided the scrawny mess of a creature with long black hair must be a boy, though a very unkempt one. Ren turned his eyes to study the new arrival. In the light of the lantern he stood at average height, had scruffy brown hair, and was wearing a wrapped shirt of natural fabric with tattered brown pants and sandals. One of his hands was occupied with the lantern and the accompanying arm wrapped around a paper bag filled with what looked to be food, and the other hand holding that of the quiet short-haired girl who was the first to notice Ren. She stared at him with big brown eyes a moment before tugging on the boy’s hand to get his attention. The older boy then turned to shine the lantern on Ren. “Who are you?”

“A thief,” Maki announced for Ren.

Ren ignored his leg and turned. “I ain’t no thief!” he spat back at him.

The smaller boy stuck out his tongue at Ren. “Maki says you a thief, so you’s a thief!”

Ren got angry and threw the dinner roll at the boy. The boy dodged it and threw it back haphazardly, until it was saved from falling in the water by the older one. The youth thought a moment, then approached Ren and handed the roll back. “We don’t waste food here. Eat it.”

Ren glared at him, taking the roll. He begrudgingly took a bite out of it, chewing hard. “Tastes like shit.”

The teen knelt down, holding the lantern to Ren’s head. “Stay still. I’m not going to do anything… Your head’s bandaged. Did Maki do that?”

Ren touched his head. There was indeed a bandage.

“He did a horrible job of it, but I suppose you’re not going to let me redo it.”

Ren remained silent.

“My name’s Hanabi. Stay here if you wish.”

“Like hell I will,” Ren muttered back. Arrogant prick. I ain’t one of your kids.

Hanabi hung the lantern on a nail wedged into a stone crevice above them and set the bag down on the concrete floor. He called to the boy and girl. “Mina, Ruke, come here.”

“I’m staying with Maki!” the boy exclaimed, but Maki came off the crate and jumped across the canal and landed on all fours. Ruke laughed and crossed the wooden bridge again.

Hanabi looked back at the young girl. “Come on. He won’t hurt anyone.”

Might hurt you, Ren thought bitterly.

Ren’s back was turned on them, but for some reason he was still a part of the circle they had formed under the lantern light. They were a small family, Hanabi obviously the head as he dug out fruits and vegetables and gave them to the two children. The girl, Mina, began eating her celery stalk without protest, but Maki simply sneered at his and Ruke pushed it away. “I don’t want stupid vegetables! I want bread!”

“Eat it, both of you.”

“Why does the thief get bread?!”

Ren gritted his teeth. “The hell, brat, I ain’t no thief!” He was again returned a tongue.

“Can’t fool me, thief!”

Ren reached for the boy but his hand was stopped by Maki grabbing his arm with surprising speed and strength. Maki glared at him with matching black eyes and feral black hair.

“If you aren’t a thief, then what are you?” Maki asked Ren once again. “Your clothes smell like dirt and your hands stink like nobles. You’re a thief.”

Ren took his hand back but only responded with a cautious defensive stare at Maki.

“Plus, your right arm and both legs smell like oil.”

Hanabi looked at Ren with concern. “You’re half machine?”

“Yeah, so what?” Mind your own business, prick.

Ruke stood up. “Whoa, the thief’s a cyborg!”

“I told you I’m not a thief!”

“No one here cares if you’re a thief,” Hanabi said. “We’re thieves too, but we’re not in your league.”

Ren glanced back at Hanabi. His back was still mostly turned from the group but his head was turned half into the circle. The soft ripple of the murky water in the canal mixed with the sound of crunching celery. Ruke had begun eating it, as well as Maki. It seemed everyone listened to Hanabi. “My league?” Ren asked.

“If you have artificial limbs, you’re not just stealing food to survive.”

Ren turned away from the group. “Shut up. You don’t know anything.” For a moment there was silence. Ren knew he was disrupting their normal flow but quickly dismissed any shred of empathy for them. He slowly stood up, leaving the roll on the ground which Ruke quickly snatched up. “I need to get home. Show me the way out.”

“Your leg is injured too?” Hanabi asked, noticing Ren’s movement.

“It’s fine. Now show me the way out.”

Hanabi dismissed it. “Maki can show you the way.”

Maki stuck his remaining half of the celery stalk in his mouth and turned on all fours away from the light. Ren moved around the group to follow Maki. Slowly, Ren turned the corner and left the other three without a word.





“You don’t have to follow me though,” Ren broke their silence, throwing his voice up to the second story of the buildings to his left. The sky was dark. By the time they had reached Ren and his sister’s apartment, Ren judged it was already past midnight. After stopping for a bit and walking even longer, it was no doubt early morning already. Maki didn’t respond. He wasn’t bothering to conceal himself, only plugging along above Ren. Ren had already done a quick fix on his leg back at the apartment while ignoring Maki’s presence as the feral boy wandered their single room sniffing around. Ren was now moving slightly better but the joints still weren’t at full efficiency. The night was much cooler, and less dust was in their air between the buildings of the city. They were nearing the outskirts. Ren spat and set to ignoring his guest once again. He could already tell Maki was the type to do whatever he wanted regardless of what anyone said. Besides, there were larger concerns now. It wasn’t so bad that Mary hadn’t come home yet, but it was enough to cause Ren to wonder.

The edge of the city came abruptly. The skyscrapers stood like a wall against the desert, the vast and now dark wasteland stretching out before them. Ren stepped off the concrete foundation and down into the red dirt. Maki dropped down and followed a short ways behind him, still on all fours.

Fucking animal, Ren thought. What was the deal with Maki, anyway? It looked like he was raised as a housedog. Ren was pretty sure he was harmless, or else he wouldn’t have led him straight to his and Mary’s home on level 30 of the Mai district, but seriously, the kid was weird. Hardly ever responded when Ren talked to him, too.

The cemetery was in sight, and a lone figure stood in the shadows. Despite being near such an urban area the sky was filled with stars, casting their indigo haze over the flat barren wasteland outside Mariah. The graveyard was surrounded by a simple rope fence tied between iron stakes, and the gravestones inside were varied, mostly small, cheap things though larger monuments were scattered. As with the rest of the desert, not a living thing existed.

Mary was standing in front of their mother’s grave silently, her back to Ren. Ren knew she would have noticed as soon as he stepped into the cemetery. He didn’t speak. Maki, too, stayed behind him silently watching.

Ren was being impatient and finally dismissed courtesy. “Let’s go home, sis,” he griped.

Maki looked up at Ren quizzically. Mary turned around, holding her red hair with one hand. “Oh, you’re here already, little bro.”

“The hell’s wrong with you? Let’s go.”

She smiled. “I suppose I’ve been out here quite a while, haven’t I?”

“It’s the freaking morning.”

“Ah, whatever. Who’s that?”

Ren furrowed his brow. She was rather laid back, hardly like her usual self. He shook it off. “Just a stray mutt. Are you coming home or not?”

“Yeah, sorry. Let’s go home.”

Ren cocked his brow at her. Apologizing? What’s wrong with you, Sis? He began walking back towards Mariah in thought. Maki stayed put. Ren supposed the animal-boy wouldn’t be following him anymore.

“This isn’t the woman you’ve been looking for,” he suddenly spoke up.

Ren looked back at him. He was crouching next to Mary. He had his guard up.

“The hell do you know, Mutt? Get lost.”

“This person is male.”

Mary smirked. “You picked up a crazy one this time, didn’t you?” She squatted down in front of him and grabbed her boobs. “You see these tits, boy?”

Ren grimaced. At least she was acting like herself again. “Leave him alone, sis. Let’s go.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, little bro.”

“Stop calling me little bro. You never call me that.” He hesitated, then looked back at her, unsettled. Maki’s words came back to him. But he was just some mutt. And he had never met Mary. What could he know? He made to move again.

She got up and followed him, leaving Maki glaring after her. “Aw, come on, little bro is nice for a change.”

Ren stopped and looked back at her again. Mary wasn’t one for change. She stopped and returned the glance, questioningly cocking her head with a hand on her hip. For a long time he stared at her, questioning her, his perception, and what Maki could tell, if anything. He was confused and indecisive, which wasn’t usually like him. He was about to give it up when Mary let the confused expression drop. “My my,” she said, shaking her head. Ren’s heart chilled. “You seem to have picked up a resourceful little friend.”

“Who are you and why do you look like my sister?”

“Ah, forgive me, forgive me. Silly little tricks, silly little tricks.” Her body became distorted like thin smoke and another form materialized between Ren and Maki. Ren stepped back, wide-eyed but still with a threatening glare. A grizzled man in a black coat and hat with white hair down to his shoulders stood before him. “Don’t be alarmed, little bro. I’m an old friend of your sister’s.”

Ren was unsure of what to make of the odd transformation. This man obviously had some sort of strange power, but there could be more to it than that. “Where’s Mary?” he asked, cautious.

The man waved it off and smiled amicably. “Ah, she’s fine, she’s fine. We just need her for a while, that’s all. No worries.” He smiled down at Ren, then took a few steps towards him. “To be honest, I never knew she had a little brother until a few years ago. Ahh, the times do change. You don’t look a lot like your mother, though. Well, maybe a little.”

“Stay back!” Ren picked up a rock and held it ready. He was shaking. He wanted to run. What was with all the mysterious people appearing around him? He struggled to keep his face free of visible fear.

The man stopped approaching and held up his hands. “Easy there. I’m not looking for trouble.”

“Why were you pretending to be my sister?”

He threw up his hands and smiled. “I told her I would take care of you. I figured it’d be easier if I was her, but…eh, I guess that wouldn’t have worked long anyway.” He paused. Ren didn’t drop the rock. “Relax, little bro. I haven’t lied to you. I used to work with Mary.”

Ren tried to process this information. It’s true he didn’t know much about Mary’s life before they met each other 8 years ago at their mother’s funeral, but that only meant there was no way to tell if this man was lying or not. If the man was planning on deceiving him, there was a good chance he was. Ren kept the rock poised though suddenly wondered whether it would do any good.

“Then tell me what you want from her now,” Ren demanded.

“We need her help with something.”

Ren gritted his teeth. “Don’t beat around the bush, grandpa! What do you need her help for?”

“It’s an old family thing. Don’t worry about it.”

“…If it’s a family thing, then why don’t I know about it?”

The man ran his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully. He wasn’t supplying an answer.

“And who the fuck are you?!” Ren said

“Like I said, friend of the family.”

“I don’t fucking know you and you’re no friend of any family I know.”

The man nodded concedingly. “Granted. Still, I knew your mother. Know your sister, of course. We go back.”

“And where is she?”

“She had to leave for a while. She’s helping us with something. She’ll be back, no worries.” Ren doubted this. If Mary had had a choice, she wouldn’t have sent a stranger in her place. Something had happened to her. For a moment they stared at each other, then, shaking his head the white-haired man pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the tiny flame glowing in the dim of the night, followed by a long rolling cloud of smoke tumbling from his lips. He opened his eyes again, focusing hard on Ren. “Look, kid. Things are happening in the world. Things you don’t know.” He pulled on his cigarette again and looked aside. “Things a lot of people don’t know.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

The man shook his head. “Nothing.”

Right. “Then what’s it got to do with my sister?”

The man paused, considering what to say.

“Stop talking nonsense!” Ren shouted, his anger and frustration growing. “Bring her back! Where’d you fucking take her?”

The man sighed, then threw his cigarette on the ground and smushed it out. “Maybe I need to approach this from another angle,” he said.

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Ren continued yelling.

“Excuse me,” he said, his hands in his coat pockets, “though it looks like I don’t have time to be sticking around here. We may meet again, little bro, who knows. Adios.” With that, his form once again distorted, his clothes, skin, and hair melting together like a liquid form and he soon evaporated into thin air.

Ren fell backwards, breathing heavily, letting the rock fall on the ground beside him. His ears rang and his skin was permeated with goosebumps. His eyes watered. The graveyard was now empty except for Ren.

Maki had disappeared too.

“Give him a week to apologize and clear things up. If he doesn’t move by then, we’ll take care of it a different way.” Don Sunaki waved the matter closed without looking back. He was staring out the transparent wall of the top floor of his tower. Sunaki Tower was one of few buildings that reached the 99th level, and the Don had chosen it specifically. The sky was overcast, clouds hanging low, casting a gray ceiling over the expansive carpet canopy of rust-colored skeletal skyscrapers strung with cables and bridges, like an overgrown swamp forest of iron. He ran a pinky finger along the side of his dyed black hair as he sneered out the window.

“Don, you have a guest.” Another speaker said. His receptionist was a man with blond hair and a necktie.

“What is it now? I think I’ve heard enough tax relief stories for one day.”

“The guest bears a gift from the Earl, Don.”

The Don spun with a brilliantly delighted expression on his overweight goateed face. “Foxy! Yeah, that’s what I need today!” he exclaimed, jamming a finger at his receptionist. “Spicy women with big fucking knockers. He turned to his clearly uncomfortable secretary. “How do I look?” she stammered, but he didn’t wait for her reply anyway. “Great. Send her in,” he said, moving towards the lone recliner in the middle of the room.

“I’m sorry Don,” the receptionist said, “It’s actually her younger brother.”

“Oh.” The Don plopped down into his chair, his face immediately fallen back to its natural state of ponderous aggression. “Well, send him in. Let’s see what the Earl de’Twat gave us. The Don put on a big smile as the receptionist brought Ren into the room.

“Welcome, welcome,” the Don greeted Ren cheerfully from the recliner. “Come, have a seat, boy.”

Ren approached the platform and knelt down on the polished tile floor. He was wearing a black t-shirt and gray slacks and his erratic black hair was kept under as best control as feasibly possible. He carried a small package wrapped in rags and had a blank emotionless look. This was business.

“Aha,” the Don offered what would have been a magnanimous smile had it been anyone else, “haven’t seen you in a while. How’ve you been, boy?”

“I am good, Don,” Ren replied.

“And your mother? Good health I presume?”

“Yes, she is well. She sends her gratitude.”

“I’m surprised to see you here. It’s usually my lovely foxy who comes to deliver the gifts. She can’t be ill?”

“She had some business to take care of.”

“Oho. Business other than me?” The Don’s tone was still casual, but the edge was palpable nonetheless.

“Just some family stuff, Don. She told me to apologize for her.”

The Don chuckled. “Doubt that. Still, family’s important. And her family is my family. You get that?” the Don swiveled in his chair to face the city. “My family’s been getting bigger every day. And it’s only gonna get bigger. Some people don’t get that. Some people don’t get family. You know what I’m saying, boy?”

“Yes, Don.”

“Anyway, you got something for me, right?”

Ren unwrapped the golden piece of jewelry and handed it to the Don, who leaned forward over his bulging belly to take it. “Ohoho. Look at this thing. That’s what I’m talking about. The man can’t even keep his own territory straight and this is what he does with his money. Laughable. She deserves better. Not this crap,” he said, tossing it onto the floor where it clattered to the side of the room. “Did foxy help you on this one, or you do it yourself?” he asked Ren.

“I did it myself, Don. My sister helped me escape the church, though.”

The Don frowned. “The Church? Ohhhh!” he shouted, suddenly pointing with wide eyes. “That’s right. You were the cripple I gave some legs to. And an arm, right? It’s been a while. I forgot that’s how I met foxy. Time flies, huh? Yeah. That’s right. You’re working off your debt to me.” The Don laughed. “And here I was thinking I’d have to find some better work for you guys soon! But if it’s debt, well,” he waved it off, grinning. Then he turned serious. “Listen, boy. A man always pays his debts.”

“Yes, Don,” Ren said stiffly.

“But you know what I’m saying, boy. About family. That Earl de’Pamper doesn’t get it. He throws away his own family like it’s nothing. And yet what’s this?!” the Don shouted. He threw a fat hand towards the tossed brooch. “People in this world think old money is everything, that old money means power. Prestige. That little chick and her idiot father couldn’t be further from the truth. They’re deluded by this grand lie they tell each other. And they’d be sorry when they finally realize Amarlo ain’t nothing but rich old trash! I’m doing them a favor!” he shouted. “She deserves better. Don’t you think, boy?” Ren opened his mouth to offer the rote affirmative a third time, but the Don spoke over him. “Hey, someone call in Willy. You. Go. I need Willy.” The nervous secretary in a pencil skirt went and retrieved the receptionist again. The Don pointed to the brooch as they re-entered. “Take that thing down to the smith. I want it hammered into a plate, and then take it to the kitchens. I’ll have my dinner served on it.”

“As you wish, Don.” The receptionist retrieved the fallen jewelry and exited again.

“Make it extra sloppy!” the Don shouted after him, and then looked back down at Ren. “You having any problems, boy? Anything I can help with?”

“No, Don.”

The Don nodded. “Alright. Get out of here. Keep it up. Hey.” He pointed a finger as Ren turned, catching his eyes again. “Good things come to those who know what’s important. Huh?”

“Yes, Don.”

Don Sunaki chuckled, and shooed Ren out of the room.





Ren knocked on the door of the biomech maintenance room. Waiting for an answer from behind the rusting iron door, he looked around at the bare dirty corridor on one of the lower levels of Don Sunaki’s tower. It wasn’t long before the door opened, and a young man wearing a blue bandana on his head with raised magnifying goggles appeared in the doorway against the lights inside the room.

The man smiled. “Ah, Ren. Got busted up again?”

“A bit.”

“Come in.” Ren followed the man into the room. The biomech maintenance room was a simple workshop, comprised of a large concrete workbench in the middle of the room, tools small and large scattered about, including everything from microscopes to hacksaws to culture vats to soldering irons, and a large milling machine in one corner. The room was lit by simple overhead hanging lights, and laying on some countertops and workbenches were mechanical body parts in various stages of construction, as well as larger projects, some including nerve-controlled weaponry. A certificate on the far wall, visible as one walked in, read Martin Lelouge, licensed biomech engineer.

“So? What’d you do this time?” Martin asked, going back to one of the counters against the wall where he was screwing together pieces of a hand.

Ren lifted himself onto a clear spot on the large concrete table and sat down. “Fell off a building.”

Martin looked back at him, silently blinking behind his magnifying goggles for a moment before turning back to his work. “You take the award for brilliancy, Ren.”

“Piss off.” After taking off his tattered shoe, Ren leaned to one side to retain his balance and lifted the leg of his slacks enough to push down the latches in his thigh. He detached his leg and pulled it free, leaving one pant leg empty. Martin stopped his current project, lifted his goggles again, and came over to Ren. He took the leg over to the adjacent workbench, testing the joints. Ren laid down on the table, as he was no longer able to balance while sitting.

“How far did you fall?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let me see the other one,” Martin said, putting the one leg down and coming back to Ren.

“There’s no problem with the other one,” Ren protested.

“Come on, let me see it,” Martin insisted. Ren scowled and laid back on the table. Martin waited while Ren reached down his remaining leg to find the latches and release it. Martin accepted the leg only after Ren handed it to him and then examined it there, turning it over and flexing it in different positions. Meanwhile, without any legs Ren couldn’t balance even sitting up, so laid on the table glowering at the ceiling. “Hm, yeah,” Martin said. “You must have landed on one leg then.”

“Tch. Fucking told you, didn’t I?”

“Just doing my job. Here you go.” Ren took back his right leg and Martin returned to the left on the counter. Ren grunted as he struggled to position the leg correctly, fighting both his pants and his balance. “Good thing you landed on your feet at all, I should be saying.” Martin continued. “Anything else would have probably killed you, the way this leg looks. I always think I make your legs with strong enough alloy, but you always seem to outdo me.”

“Maybe you just suck,” Ren muttered while still grappling with his right leg.

Martin ignored him. “You would think with how strong I make your legs they would hold up better. On the other hand, with these weighing you down, your intermediary muscles must be amazingly conditioned. If I gave you a standard model now, you’d probably be able to jump a level or two.”

Finally Ren felt the center spoke connect with the central core and he rotated it to the right angle and slid it into place until the latches clicked. He felt a tingle up his spine as the nerves connected. Martin’s words registered to him, and he looked at the biomechanic, who had his back turned towards the leg he was busy prying open on the counter. “I thought these were regular pieces.”

Martin turned his head back to Ren with a smile as he ripped off a panel with his hands. “Oh, they are. Yeah. Standard design orthopedics, but I made them durable enough for your line of work, and depending on the location of the junction the intermediary muscles play a tremendous role in governing the overall kinetic strength of the piece. Of course it doesn’t help if you keep bringing them back busted.”

Ren scowled. “Ain’t my fault.”

Martin smiled and set the leg down, pushing it to the other side of the table, and went to retrieve a tool from one of his toolboxes. “You haven’t changed.”

Martin was a lanky man in his twenties, bald, but the bandana was his norm. “So? Where’s Mary today?” He asked, wiping his hands on his brown overalls. Ren shifted his gaze to the opposite side of the room.

“Hell if I know.”

Martin briefly glanced up from his countertop where he already had half of the leg dissembled. “Now that’s not like her.”

Ren thought a moment while Martin returned to his work, both silent. “You know a lot of big people, right?” Ren asked.

“More or less.”

“You know some old white-haired guy that wears a black suit?”

“Yes, roughly five dozen people come to mind.”

Ren scowled. “Fuck you, smartass.”

“You know nothing about this man other than physical appearance?”

The events of last night ran through Ren’s mind. “He has some sort of weird shapeshifting ability, and can disappear like magic.”

“Ren, this isn’t the psychology center. If you want your software checked, you’ll need to see someone else.”

Ren flipped himself over with his arm to glare at Martin. “That’s what I saw, you gear-jockey!”

“Ren, people don’t just disappear, nor can they change their physical form. If they could I’d be out of a job.”

“Tch,” Ren dismissed, laying back down.

“And what do you want with this magician, Ren?”

“I want my sister back,” Ren muttered disdainfully.

Martin guffawed. “Mary ran off with an older man? I guess I was out of her league after all!”

“Fag, like you care.”

“It’d be interesting to see what sort of man could make her leave her darling brother behind,” Martin commented a bit more seriously.

“He kidnapped her!” Ren spat from on the table.

Martin hesitated, then looked up at Ren again with a smile of pity. “That’s even less physically possible than people shapeshifting and disappearing. That woman’s tougher than steel.”

Ren didn’t respond, letting their conversation fall to silence. For minutes the only sound in the biomech room was the tinkering of Martin’s screwdriver. Ren’s brooding mood had rubbed off on Martin.

“Don Sunaki,” Ren changed the subject, “was talking about some guy named Earl.”

“Earl? Ah, Ren, that’s a title. Was it Earl de’Amarlo?

“Yeah, I think so,” Ren scratched his head, only to be reminded of his healing injury.

“The Don’s obsessed with him. I think he treats Amarlo as his arch-rival. Which is absurd of course.” Martin looked around the shop to make sure no one else was listening. “The Earl de’Amarlo is in an entirely different category of power,” he said a little more softly.

“Does he have long black hair?”

Martin paused his work, lifting his goggles to look at Ren. “I don’t know, actually, but why? Don’t tell me you’ve met the Earl de’Amarlo?”

“He’s the one that made me fall!” Ren griped viciously.

The mechanic shook his head smiling. “I can’t keep up with you.” He placed his palms upon the table looked down at the dissembled leg and sighed. After a moment he launched himself up decisively and went to a barrel in the corner, fishing for scrap metal. “From what I hear the Earl is…how should I put this…odd. He’s an eccentric.”

“Huh?” Ren called, trying to heave his voice off the table. “Can’t hear you, you’re making too much noise.”

“I said the Earl is an oddball!”

“Tch, already figured that one out,” Ren muttered to himself.

Martin pulled a piece of scrap out, inspected it, then took it to the milling machine and threw it onto the conveyor. He touched a plasma screen to null the screensaver and made a few quick selections on the screen before the machine whirred into action. Leaving the machine to mill the needed part, Martin returned to Ren, hoisting himself onto the counter where he was working on the leg, facing Ren.

“The Earl de’Amarlo controls at least five or six of the districts in Mariah, but he lives in the Okhan district, which was acquired two months ago by the Don, which makes the Don’s seventh. The difference is that the Earl inherited all of his wealth from the Amarlo estate, whereas the Don started from relatively nothing. The Amarlo family used to have more territory, too, but the current Earl—or head—I don’t know if they were all Earls—doesn’t seem to be at all concerned with keeping it, or expanding his territory or possessions, which makes him an odd figure in the political world.”

“He just sits in his castle and does nothing?” Ren muttered questionably.

The milling machine stopped running, and Martin came off the table. He threw his hands up. “Apparently so.”

Recalling the Earl de'Amarlo's face, Ren found it hard to believe. Would you like to see the end of the world? What the hell did he mean by that? Whatever the man’s game was, there’s no way he liked to sit around and do nothing. Ren sneered. The incident was over. It didn’t concern him.

Ren let Martin finish his maintenance work without further interruption. The biomech room was warmly lit in an amber haze and smelled like machine oil and rusting iron. A slight air current brushed past his skin from the silently rotating large fan in the wall on the far side of the room, the warm air enveloping him. He closed his eyes. It was an oddly comforting place. Home hadn’t been quite the same this morning without Mary kicking him to wake up.

He let his head fall to the side, away from Martin, staring at old mechanical diagrams on paper peeling away from the wall, his dirty black hair resting softly atop the smooth concrete workbench. His eyes and mouth were half open.

Where was Mary?





Ren violently awoke by a crushing weight to his stomach. He looked down to see his foot on top of it. “It’s not like you to suddenly phase out. You been losing sleep lately or something?”

Ren scowled and took his completed leg. “Something like that.”

Martin smiled and put his hands on his hips. “Since you always insist on putting your own leg on yourself, I decided not to molest you in your sleep.”

“I’ll kill you, fag,” Ren said while twisting his leg back in place. He latched it down, running a hand over the connection to erase most visible signs of it, and moved his foot to test it.

“Are you sure the other leg is fine? I didn’t see any outward signs of it being damaged, but maybe I ought to take a closer look at it, too.”

“Feels fine. I’ll come back if there’s a problem.”

Martin moved away to return to his previous project. “Don’t be so rough on them. Those legs and arm are in the service of the Don, after all.”

“Yeah, you tell me that every time,” Ren said, heading for the door.

“It is my job. Ah, one more thing before you go.” Martin went to the counter and squatted down. He opened the door to a small refrigerator beneath the counter, rummaged through it, and found a small package. He closed the door, stood up, and tossed it to Ren.

Ren looked at it. It was a vacuum-sealed package of meat.

“What’s this for?”

“Take it.”

“The Don sends us some food rations every week. We don’t need it.”

Martin went back to work on the robotic hand on the other workbench, his face hidden from Ren. “When the Don finds out Mary’s gone, your food rations will be halved.”

Ren looked at the package of meat again, turning it over in his hand. He rolled his eyes and turned for the door again. Then he paused a moment. “Thanks,” he muttered and reached for the handle.

“What’d you say? Couldn’t hear you,” Martin called nonchalantly.

“I said fuck you!” Ren called and slammed the door behind him.






Ren sat on the edge of the balcony turning over in his hand the packaged meat given to him by Martin earlier that day. The sun had already set past the horizon of skeletal iron, leaving the daylight fading into a cool dissapation. Ren's thighs stung from the overworked legs. He had been all over the city that day, across five of the surrounding districts, lower levels as well as the canopy, searching for Mary, but there was no indication of her having been anywhere. Ren had hoped she would have appeared before it came time to meet with the Don. Ren hated dealing with the Don. But Mary was nowhere to be seen. As ridiculous as it was for the idea of Mary being kidnapped, her lack of presence in the current situation left Ren with increasing anxiety.

Setting the meat down, he stretched out on the balcony, easing the pain in his back while massaging his upper thighs, and then his face, mussing his hair and then clenching it in frustration. The recent events one after another had left him in confusion. Then again, Ren reconciled, it was all either just work or just coincidence. The only real problem was Mary's disappearance. The Earl de'Amarlo wasn't important. He was just a weirdo hiding in his mansion. Ren probably would never have to meet the perfectly-sculpted doll-like face and his toy wife ever again. What they did wasn't his concern.

Behind him the mail slot clanked and a small package dropped into the dim room. Ren stared at it a moment, then got up and walked across the room to pick it up. Growling his general disapproval, he tore off the perforated end of the box and removed the paper inside and quickly scanned what was written. Scowling, he jammed the paper into his pocket and moved to return to the balcony.

"More work?" A voice from the ceiling asked. Ren fell back, his fists up before he could see who it was that had spoken. Towards the balcony, with the dim-lit room contrasting with the still relatively coolly bright twilight sky, a silhouetted figure was hanging upside down from an iron structure beam protruding from the building, part of the makeshift balcony of the next floor. Ren kept his guard up until his eyes adjusted and could make out the general shape of the feral animal-boy. It was Maki.

"So what if it is? What do you want with me?"

Maki was silent. He scratched his head and yawned, still hanging upside down from the metal beam.

"And," Ren continued, stumbling over his words, "I already told you,"

"You're not a thief."

Ren gritted his teeth. "Shut up!"

A moment of silence passed between the two before Ren slowly relaxed his tension. As wild as Maki was, he had never seemed to be an enemy. Ren's head throbbed, reminding him of the sloppily tied bandage that was there up until that morning, and he lowered his fists completely, grunting grudgingly as if to blow off the situation. He continued to the balcony and sat on the edge, remaining wary of the presence above him. It was completely disconcerting to Ren how Maki had suddenly appeared. His work for the Don over the past two years had given him an extraordinary sense of hearing, yet Maki snuck into his own room like it was no trouble at all. Ren was almost slightly thankful he didn't have to consider Maki a threat.

Ren sensed movement above him, and noticed Maki turning upright to sit on the top of the iron beam.

“What do you want with me?” Ren asked again, still uncomfortable with Maki's presence.

No answer.

“Friendly bitch, aren't you.” Ren relaxed some more, leaving the feral creature alone for the moment as he retreated into his thoughts again. His stomach growled, and he looked at the package of meat sitting next to him on the balcony, decided to go ahead and cook it. In the absence of a cookfire, ‘cooking’ generally consisted of using a torch to superheat an iron plate off the balcony and then using it to fry their food. Tedious, but after a moment the meat was sizzling on the makeshift frying pan.

“Hey, animal boy.” Maki's head turned slightly. There was a pause. Ren kept his eyes on the meat. “How'd you know that guy was a fake?”

“He smelled different.”

Ren looked up at the feral boy in the dim light with a furrowed grimace. "You expect me to believe you can tell who people are by their smell?"

“I definitely know you by your smell.”

“Tch.” Ren swallowed his words and turned back to the meat, flipping it over with a small knife that was kept on the floor nearby. He paused, and blinked. “But you shouldn’t know what my sister smells like. You never met her.”

"Her smell is all over the room."

Ren turned back to the room. Come to think of it, Maki had followed him inside last night, albeit uninvited. He grunted and turned back to the meat again with a slight sense of defeat. He stabbed it, brushed off an area on the balcony to his right and set it down to cool. He briefly considered offering a quarter or a fifth of it to Maki, but saved his breath and dismissed the idea. He had more things to worry about.

Ever since their mother’s funeral Ren and Mary had never been apart for very long, but even if so Mary would tell him where she was going. Ren gritted his teeth in frustration, fidgeting. He had checked all the places she might have gone and even went to the trouble of asking a few people, but then again most people didn’t want to deal with him in the first place. The man in the graveyard came to mind, and it seemed to be the only connection to Mary's whereabouts but Ren didn't know anything about who the man was. He found it as hard to believe as Martin that Mary could have been kidnapped, but no simpler explanation was presenting itself. Martin himself proved to be no good, and Martin was the only semi-intelligent person he knew besides his sister.

“You saw that guy shapeshift, right?” he commanded of Maki.

“Yes.” Maki’s response was subdued. He had been surprised too.

“And he disappeared, right?”

“Yes."

“That's not normal!”

“Obviously.”

Ren gave a frustrated growl. The animal wasn't helping. He picked up the meat and tore into it. It tasted smoky, a strong gamey flavor. Packaged meat came from hunting parties that ranged far into the wilderness to bring food back to the city. It was normally a luxury. Not that Ren was in a situation to enjoy it. Ren had a thought, and stood up.

“Hey, nose-freak, can't you like, track him or something?”

Maki was silent for a moment. “Even if I could, the scent would be gone by now.”

Maki's semi-remorseful attitude was lost on Ren. “Useless mutt!” Ren paced to the other end of the balcony. His head hurt from everything. Finally, he turned to the city, took a deep breath, and yelled. “GOD DAMMIIIITT!”

The scream reverberated through the iron city, echoing off the buildings. One of Maki’s hands slipped in his surprise and he almost fell to the floor before climbing back onto the ceiling beam. Children that were playing on the rooftop of a building across the way stopped and laughed and jeered, an elderly couple smiled and whispered behind their hands.

Ren fell back onto the balcony and ate his meat. Maki returned to a squatting position on the protruding beam. A wind blew through the city, chilling the dusty metallic air. Nothing had changed.

After watching the sky steadily growing darker, some voices rose up to level 30 from the canopy a few floors below. Men in red garments were filtering into the building, 6 of them that Ren could see as he peered over curiously. He had never seen uniforms like those the men were wearing. On closer inspection, they were carrying guns. Ruled out the church. Listening, he could hear their footsteps in the halls in the floors below after they had disappeared from sight.

Losing interest, Ren put the remaining chunk of meat down and laid down on his back. Catching Maki in his vision, he scowled and turned to the side. Tomorrow's job was in a district he hadn't looked around through earlier that day—it wasn’t a district he’d spent much time in at all, in fact, so before work he'd check out the area and look for Mary. Assuming she wasn't in the area, he'd just go to the place in the letter, get the goods and scramble out.

Ren wondered whether there was any way to get a lead on the strange black-suited man who could shapeshift and disappear. If even Martin had no idea, who possibly could? If Mary was here he could use her contacts—she knew more people around the city than he did—but even if he knew where to find them, he doubted he had enough sway on his own to get any information. Besides, what group could have such a power and keep it hidden from Don Sunaki? The church? The government?

“Oi.”

Ren turned over. Maki was beckoning to him. What do you want, creep?

The footsteps were on the same floor. Ren sat up and listened. It was ridiculous to think the men in red would be targeting him, but there weren't that many people on level 30 of this building to begin with. He stood up, looking back at the door.

The footsteps had come to the door and stopped. Ren gritted his teeth. The door was locked, but seeing as they were carrying guns, he doubted they’d just up and walk away either. Looks like I'll be fixing the door tomorrow, too, he thought. The blast didn't come. Instead, Ren heard a key enter the lock. Taking a step back from this unexpected turn of events, he watched as the door opened and armed soldiers filed into the room.

The red uniforms were more of a burgandy-red, and had gold trim. Even up close, Ren had no idea who they were but the fact that they had submachine guns pointed at him was quite clear.

A tall man stepped forward, the presence of a red and gold embroidered skullcap hat indicating to Ren higher rank. He spoke in a loud, firm voice.

“Ren-under-Sunaki. Under Public Security Act A77 and by sanction of His Holiness Greger I, you are hereby ordered by Lady Theresa Elstar to surrender yourself and be escorted to a detainment facility. You have been suspended of your rights as a citizen of Mariah city. All statements and actions may be recorded for evaluation by the War Tribunal and can and will affect your sentence. Surrender without resistance and you will not be harmed.”

They had him cornered in his own room. Level 30 was not a good place to be in this situation. His heart was beating fast, racing frantically with his mind to find a way out. The next balcony over would buy some time if he could make it but the moment he took his eyes off the leader they could move. He swallowed, and readied himself for the inevitable chase. Assuming he could make it off the building alive.

The rubber on his shoe ground against the rusty floor as he took off, dashing headlong for the next balcony, but he didn't get far before he was hit hard in the stomach by something from the ceiling, sending him flying toward the edge of the balcony. In a panic he grabbed for the edge but the speed and power were tremendous and he knew he was flying off the building. It barely registered that Maki was the driving force in his unexpected flight before getting yanked again from the force of the other boy catching him with one arm while grabbing onto a cable with the other, tearing it from its bolt pins one by one until he swung onto a nearby iron bridge. In the midst of gunfire Ren scrambled to his feet dizzily but in the end was helped by Maki picking him up by the back of his shirt and running to the other side of the bridge, Ren struggling to regain his senses while running at full speed to keep up with Maki's forced carriage.

They reached the other building, at which point Maki could let go of Ren and let him run on his own, leaving himself to revert to all fours. “BASTARD!” Ren exclaimed, still running, “YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?!” He caught a glimpse in passing of a giant number 25 in fading red paint on the side of a concrete column. “WE JUST JUMPED 5 LEVELS YOU CRAZY BITCH!”

"There'f more of 'em fcattered around. 'eep runging," Maki shouted back. He was running with something in his mouth. The leftover MEAT? Leaving his incredulity aside, Ren looked ahead to see more of the armed soldiers coming up a flight of stairs onto the 25th level. Maki veered onto a makeshift iron plate-rope bridge leading down to a shorter building. Ren followed, their footsteps clanging against the loose metal plates as the soldiers behind them shouted orders and followed.

They reached the other side, and Ren's foot hit dirt and gravel. It was an artificial level built on top of the existing building. He slowed down enough to turn around, but their pursuers were also fast and used to the canopy terrain. He turned and followed Maki quickly, coming to a corner as more shots began to ring out behind them. He put on a burst of speed but suddenly felt a shock to his senses that sent an electrical current from his leg straight up his spinal cord. He fell to the ground heavily, the gravel biting into his hands and forehead. He opened his eyes but his vision was blurry and full of stars. Making out basic shapes, he stumbled up and began running, albeit in a very swervy pattern. Maki ran back and threw Ren onto his back, once again carrying him. Ren slowly regained his senses They were currently passing a row of shacks to their left, rough structures hobbled together out of canvas, rope, and iron plating. Inhabitants stared as they ran past. People...they can't shoot.

“Dammit, put me down. I can run.” Maki lifted Ren off of him and they continued running. Despite the shock, his leg seemed to be working fine for the moment. Wondering what happened would come later. He simply had to be careful not to get shot again. Not that that wasn't already a goal.

Looking ahead, two red-clothed men were heading them off via another bridge. Maki swerved into an opening in the shacks. Ren scrambled to a stop and ran back to follow Maki without hesitation, even when they jumped off the post-constructed level down to the next floor, which Ren quickly found was a mistake. They landed on the roof of a small shanty but the force was too great and it collapsed beneath them. The roof tumbled down inwards, losing them their footing and taking them along with the collapsing iron plates with a loud crash. Ren hit several points during the fall but grimaced and got up in the midst of the dust cloud to see Maki taking off through a dark doorway into the next room. Ren got up and followed. As he ran out of the room, He caught the eye of a wrinkly woman holding a wide-eyed child in fear.

“Hey you dumb animal! Couldn't you have picked a better route here?” Ren shouted ahead while dashing through a hole in the wall that Maki just made. They burst out into a well-lit street with similar shanties on both sides, filled with people standing around, walking, or sitting around fire grills for meals.

“This is perfect. We can lose them here.”

Well, that's true. Ren looked back. He couldn't see anything past the crowd of people and clustered buildings.

They jogged through the alleyway, dodging the people, pushing off of them if required. Maki was still running on all fours.

Behind them, some whistles and shouts were heard. The crowd began moving away from the center of the road and three stocky men stepped into their path. Must be the neighborhood watch, Ren thought. Maki sped up and dodged past them, leaving two distracted. Ren rushed the third and punched him in the stomach with his mechanical arm, then followed Maki with the other two men in pursuit.

“God, dumb animal, now we're in bigger trouble!”

“We need to get out of here anyway.” They rounded a corner out of what seemed to be the main street of the community into a darker corridor of poorer dwellings. They had quickly outrun the community guardsmen and now slowed down to walk.

“You know where we're going or something?” Ren asked Maki.

“Roughly.”

“Tch.” Ren scratched his head. “At any rate, we need to get down to the lower levels. It’s a lot harder to be seen crossing between buildings.”

“Won't they be expecting that?”

"Doesn't matter if you can run fast enough, and it’s faster running down there.”

“Hmph.”

Ren looked down at the creature walking on his hands and legs in front of him. “What's so funny, dog-boy?”

“I guess you would have a lot of experience with this.”

“Shut up.”

“Ren-under-Sunaki.”

“What?” Ren said while surveying the location. They had somehow made it onto level 22.

“Is that your name?”

“It's just Ren,” he replied spitefully.

“Stairs.”

“Hah?” Ren couldn't follow Maki's train of thought. Looking ahead, there was indeed a flight of stairs. Ren gave an exasperated sigh and they proceeded to go down the staircase, Ren leaping over each of the handrails to the next flight and Maki jumping down back and forth underneath them, taking care to only make moderate sound on the iron staircase.

"Why are you following me around, anyway?" Ren asked as they descended.

Maki didn't answer.

“Creepy bastard.”

“Where are you going?” Maki asked.

Ren landed on the next flight of stairs and stopped. He hadn't thought of that. “I was just following you. Where were you going?”

But Maki ignored him, pressing on to the next level down. Ren grunted irritably and followed. They made it to the bottom level and jumped down, running across the dirt in the dark to a large concrete pillar with a man slumped against it in the shadows. Looking around before crossing in the patches of moonlight, Ren and Maki traveled quickly and silently over the ground, running from building to building and encountering little resistance. A few people were still awake, mostly gathered in groups around fires eating or talking in low voices. Ren caught a glimpse of a broken neon sign hanging from a pole. He knew this place. They had just entered the Okhan district. He relaxed a little, knowing he was out of Mai, and began to think while following Maki through the shadows.

The only place he could possibly go in this situation was to the Don's tower and ask Martin to hide him for a while. Perhaps then he could figure out what was going on. Though, he should have thought of that earlier, as the Don's tower was on the other side of the Mai district and getting there with a detour would take hours.

Ahead, Maki slowed down and stopped. Ren, puzzled, caught up and tried to see what he was doing. They were beneath a building, near the center where the ground sloped down into a drainage ditch. Maki lifted a slotted manhole cover out of its place and slid it aside. Ah...the sewers. Of course.

“You have nowhere to go, right?” Maki asked, removing the chunk of meat from his pocket, dusting it off and nibbling off of it.

Ren grimaced. That doesn't mean I have to live in the sewers with you rats. “Fuck off. I can take care of myself.”

“Ok.” Maki returned the chunk of meat to his pocket and proceeded down the manhole. Ren watched him go until he disappeared, and then contemplated his own situation. He was suddenly alone in the Okhan district with at least 30 or more armed police—or something like police—searching for him, and nowhere to go. He had made impressive getaways before, but very rarely did he go up against a large heavily armed force, and judging from what the leader guy said, they were on some sort of orders and wouldn't give up as easily as guards inside mansions. Ren had no idea what was happening here, and couldn't really move.

“Shit.”

He looked back at the manhole. Maki had neglected to close the cover. Ren stared at it spitefully.

“Fucking dog,” he muttered as he started to climb down the rusty ladder, closing the manhole cover behind him. “Mind your own goddamn business.”

Ren climbed down into the sewers cautiously, sliding the cover back over the manhole before carefully completing the descent in complete darkness. This was the same manhole he had exited from last he’d been here, and he remembered the ladder being positioned in a small room roughly 4 meters long and 2 wide. After that, it was a right turn… and he didn’t remember the rest. Still, Maki couldn’t be too far in front of him, so he trailed the wall on his right until he found the portal into the main passage, and poked his head through. He strained his eyes, and sure enough, a figure prowling on all fours loped in a dim silhouette in the distance against some ambient light of unknown source. Just as Ren realized he wouldn’t be able to keep up with Maki, Maki stopped and waited. Ren moved forward slowly, his hand on the wall to his right, testing each step before committing. Eventually he caught up with Maki and they continued, much faster now with Maki leading. After two more turns, it was visibly lighter and Ren was able to see in front of him. He heard a child’s laughter echo through the sewers. Their camp was near. They rounded the corner into a faint lamplight, Maki scampering ahead of him in his loping four-limbed gait. The three others there didn’t notice either of them until they came into the lamplight.

“Maki!” the little boy shouted and ran towards them. They seemed to all notice Ren simultaneously. The older youth’s smile faded into surprise when he saw Ren. The little boy stopped in his tracks. Ren stared at the them and they stared back. Maki unhelpfully went to sit on the crate where he’d been when Ren first met him.

Ren huffed and looked away, wiping his nose. “Some people were chasing us, so hiding out here for the night. I’ll leave in the morning.”

“Bet you stole something!” the little boy said mockingly.

Ren scowled at him. “Does it look like I stole anything, kid?” He opened his hands to show them empty.

“Bet you tried. Bet you failed cuz you suck. Bet Maki had to save you!”

“Tch.” Ren rolled his eyes. No use arguing with a brat.

“Ruke,” Maki said quietly. Ruke turned and Maki gave him a slice of meat. Ren saw Maki had been cutting the remaining hunk of meat—That used to be mine, he thought—with a knife.

“Whoa! It’s meat! Look Hanabi! Meat! Mina, Maki got us meat! He turned as Maki cut off another slice and grabbed it. He one slice in his mouth and ran to the small girl Ren saw hiding behind Hanabi. She took it with interest and put it in her mouth, chewing delightedly.

Ren sighed and sat against the wall, just outside the brightest circle of lamplight. Maki handed him a dirty roll identical to yesterday’s, with a slice of meat on it. Ren took it. As the three older youths sat at the camp, the two younger children ran down the corridor shouting something about frogs.

“Is your head better?” Hanabi asked.

The adrenaline of the chase had removed all sensation of pain, but once Ren remembered, he realized it throbbed dully still.

“Somewhat,” he grunted.

“Who was chasing you?” Hanabi asked.

“Hell if I know.”

Hanabi frowned.

“Church people with guns.” Ren amended.

Hanabi looked to Maki with both confusion and now concern.

Maki shrugged. “They did have guns.”

Ren remembered the shock he felt during the chase and bent his left knee to inspect the back of his leg.

“Maki, why were they chasing you too?” Hanabi continued. “You haven’t gotten mixed up in something dangerous have you?”

Sure enough, there was a bullet-sized dent in the back of his calf. It seemed to be functioning fine now. The shock must have been a momentary nerve feedback. The plate hadn’t been punctured, but the bullet had scraped some of the flesh paint aside. Ren would have to cover it with a bandage before going too far in the city tomorrow.

“Just happened to be there at the time,” Maki replied.

“And you… why were people with guns chasing you? What the hell did you do?”

Ren scowled again. “Like I said, I don’t know. They came out of nowhere. It’s not like I normally have people with guns chasing me around the city.”

“But you said they’re church people? You mean missionaries?”

“No,” Ren shook his head angrily, “not missionaries. I don’t know what they were. Seriously, lay off—what are you, my mother? I dodged enough bullets tonight.”

“Hanabi, look. Mina found a rat!” Ruke yelled, running up.

Hanabi turned and backed away from the limp creature hanging at his eye level. “Was it dead when you found it?”

“Mina found it.”

“Yeah, ok, but was it dead?”

“Yeah.”

“Go throw it in the trash pile and wash your hands,” Hanabi said wearily. “Mina too.”

“It’s not good if its dead?”

“No, it’s not good if its dead.”

“Aw man.” Ruke went down the corridor the way they’d come and made a turn. He reappeared a few moments later and ran through the camp. Maki grabbed one of the lit lanterns and followed the two children at his normal loping pace.

“Are you thirsty?” Hanabi asked.

The bread was excruciatingly dry. “Yeah,” Ren said with a mouth of fluff.

“Follow them. Since you’re going, mind filling this up while you’re there?” Hanabi handed Ren a dented metal flask.

Ren swallowed his bread and frowned, but took the flask and got up to follow Maki before the lantern light disappeared.

Two right turns later, Ren saw the little boy crawl into a hole at the base of the wall. Maki, already low to the ground, ducked into it as well and the small girl gave him a wary glance as she followed quickly. Ren scowled at having to get on hands and knees, but followed them.

The hole opened into an enclosed square room, roughly 4 meters to each wall. There was a pile of scrap and old tools leaning in a corner. Ruke dug out a hose from behind the junk pile, and using the moldy stone bricks, climbed the wall to a hook near the ceiling. He jumped down and turned a valve on the midsection of the hose. The hose sputtered, and after a moment water came pouring out.

“There’s water down here?” Ren asked incredulously. “How?”

“It’s a secret,” Ruke said. “Don’t tell anyone, or I’ll cut your ears off!”

Ren put his hands in the stream, marveling. He drank some. It tasted metallic, but less chalky than most water. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“Maki,” Mina said, tugging on Maki’s collar. “Can we take a shower?” Maki hesitated, but nodded. Ruke drank from the stream, rubbed his hands together quickly, splashed water on his face, and turned around authoritatively. “Come on, thief. Girls only, now.” Ren followed Ruke back to the hole. Once Ren stood up outside, he saw the lantern placed near the hole so that the light flooded both into the sewer main and lit the room inside. Ruke stood with his arms crossed—guarding the hole, apparently. Maki didn’t come out. Helping the girl bathe, Ren surmised.

“Where does the water come from?” Ren asked.

“I don’t know,” the boy said nonchalantly. That was the end of that.

It didn’t take long for Ruke to become distracted. After a moment he had wandered to the other side of the sewer corridor and and was trailing a piece of rebar through the murky water. After a minute passed, and Ruke was several meters away, the girl ducked through the hole back into the sewer. Her hair was damp and the water was being absorbed by the collar of her otherwise dry tunic. She glanced warily at Ren briefly before taking off towards Ruke.

Ren sighed. He didn’t get along with girls, much less kids. He took the flask out of his pocket and moved to re-enter the hole. He was halfway through when he saw Maki was topless and bending over, washing his long black hair in the stream. The first thing Ren noticed was Maki’s skin was paler than most city-dwellers. The second thing he noticed was Maki had boobs. Small ones, but those were definitely boobs.

Huh?

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?!” Ruke shouted behind him and Ren immediately felt a swift kick right between his legs. He yelled, threw his head up, hit it hard on the stone arch, and collapsed sideways in the fetal position with stars in his eyes. He blinked, and dazily saw Maki looking at him, covering his chest with an arm. Ren focused on the commotion behind him.

“The hell, brat?! That fucking hurt!”

Ruke kicked him in the shins, which were still poking out on the sewer side. “Yeah, whatever,” Ruke said. “You’re a thief and a peeper!”

Ren quickly wriggled out. “I’m fucking neither, you little shit. Stop kicking me.” Ruke had a smug grin on his face and Mina was visibly horrified. Through pain, Ren started to collect the situation.

Maki was a girl.

“I…” God dammit. “Stop looking at me like that. I didn’t know!” Ren said loud enough for Maki to hear too. “I didn’t know,” he repeated directly to Mina, throwing his hands up.” She cowered backwards.

“So what you’re saying is,” Ruke said, “you’re not a peeper—you’re just stupid.”

“Ye… no! Shut up!” Ren’s face flushed.

“Stupid! Stupid!”

“You little…” Ren reached for Ruke and he danced backwards. Ren chased the boy across the footbridge and around the corridor where there was still faint light as Ruke’s taunts echoed through the sewer. Just when Ren was sure he’d caught him, Ruke jumped all the way across the sewer and ran down the other side again. Ren huffed and gave up, turned to face away from the light and put his hands on his hips. Ruke still taunted him, but he huffed again. So what if Maki was a girl? She didn’t exactly make it obvious. She couldn’t blame him if he made a mistake. Ren never remembered seeing any shape beneath her shirt before—was it all just baggy clothes? She walked on all fours most of the time anyway, so it’s not like they’d be visible then. “Tch.” Bloody whatever. Ren felt something small and hard hit the back of his head and he turned angrily. Ruke had thrown a pebble or something. He grit his teeth and began walking menacingly back across the footbridge and towards the light, Ruke giggling impishly as he ran in front. Just then Maki reappeared in the hole, lugging the lantern with her. Ruke dashed behind her shoulder and stuck his tongue out at Ren.

Ren pursed his lips. “You done?”

“Yes,” Maki replied. She didn’t look up, and Ren couldn’t see her eyes beyond her hair.

“Well move out of the way then. Your friend asked me to fill this up.”

Maki moved aside and Ren crawled through the hole again. The hose had been put away but he fished it out again.

After filling the flask, they made their way back to the camp, Ruke singing about peepers. Neither Ren nor Maki said a word.

Gathering what had happened from Ruke, with Ren’s defense, Hanabi simply sighed. “I didn’t know she was a girl either the first time I met her. Ruke, stop it. Settle down.”

Ren saw Mina yawn and lean against Hanabi, and he realized he was tired too. Extremely tired, come to think of it. “I’ll sleep over here,” he said, crossing a bridge to the other side of the channel. He sat down against the wall and watched Hanabi put Mina down on a mat and cover her with a thin blanket. He looked at Maki. She noticed and looked back. Her look was blank, impassive. She really did look like a boy, even with damp hair. Ren pointedly did not look at her chest. He looked away, and glanced back after a moment. She was sitting upright, but he couldn’t see any shape. He frowned. He clearly remembered the shape of them hanging in the shower—it seemed like they should show through her shirt, at least. Maki stood up and turned off the lantern hanging on a nail, and turned the one she had carried to the shower to a dim light before turning over and huddling on a mat by the crate. Ren sighed and laid down, his face towards his own wall.

Ren turned over on his mat, taking a deep breath. The smell woke him up. He opened his eyes, glancing around without moving. The lantern still flickered slowly, casting golden glows on the rippling murky water which dully reflected in dim shimmers on the wall before him. At first, he did not move a muscle, only listened. He picked out the slow, regular breathing of the older boy and the two children, but could not hear Maki. Judging from previous encounters, he had no way of knowing if Maki was asleep, or even present for that matter. Ren had a headache. His head was still healing, after all, and he was sure the stale subterranean air wasn't helping.

He slowly sat up. The other three were still sleeping. The light cast deep shadows reaching away from the scattered crates and junk and the closely assembled group of resting bodies. With no view of the sky, Ren had no way of knowing what time it was, but, head injuries aside, he felt rested. Must be morning, Ren thought, and added a sarcastic greeting in his mind. Time to go. Where was he going again? He remembered the paper in his pocket and fished it out, but couldn’t read it in the dim light from the one lantern, nor could he remember what it had said—he had only briefly scanned it once back at the apartment, and that seemed ages ago. He laid his back against his wall, and wondered if the red-uniformed soldiers would still be looking for him. With all the shit that’s happened, he wondered whether he should even care about the Don’s orders. Finding Mary should take priority anyway.

But he’d been to all the places he could think to look yesterday, and he’d asked everyone he could think to ask. He was already out of ideas where Mary was concerned. Since the Don still provided his meals, he might as well do some work in the meantime. He checked his leg, remembering the bullet scrape. He'd have to bandage it before he got far in the city. Ren stood up, took one look at the family of misfits laying in the scattered yet subtly organized pile of trash, then turned and silently followed his long, dark shadow towards the exit.

It took Ren a full ten minutes of slow passage, his hand against the wall, before he found a tiny sliver of light reaching down through the cracks around the manhole cover. It actually wasn’t the same manhole they had entered, after all, but it was an exit; it would do. He craned his head to look in all directions. Based on the temperature outside it was mid-morning. He saw a few people walking down the street the alley let out onto, but no one was looking into the alley itself. He hoisted himself up, pulled the cover back into place, and moved to sit with his back against the building as he brought the paper out of his pocket again.

Harrol Courthouse. Get something nice. -D.

Ren put the paper back and moved to the mouth of the alley with his hands in his pockets—purposely adopting the picture of someone with nothing but time. He didn’t know this particular area, but he guessed the larger road 300 meters to his left was Circius street, which was one of two borders between Okhan and Mai. Harrol district was maybe an hour’s walk, but fortunately he should be able to avoid Mai completely.

Two blocks later, however, he ran into the red-garbed soldiers. He was passing around a building whose ground level was a junkyard when he saw two of them walking and drew back. He saw a path through the piles of rusting debris, went into the junkyard and found a spot behind a pile of broken concrete slabs with twisted rebar where he could observe them from the shadows. He still did not recognize the deep red uniforms—he was sure he had never seen anything like them before. Their guns were the real deal. They carried them on a sling at their waist. They were black, fashionable, and the same model—whoever they were, they had power. Power didn’t come into existence overnight. They must have a sponsor. That, or they’re from outside the city, but this wasn’t realistic to Ren. Chances are, if you’re in Mariah city, you were born in Mariah city.

Ren hugged the shadows as they passed. One of the men yawned while the other lazily surveyed the far side of the road, and neither spoke. There was nothing Ren could learn from them on visual inspection. What they had said last night was more informative. He didn’t remember everything exactly, but he was sure they had mentioned the Pope. Which didn’t make sense—the church was against most forms of technology, and the submachine guns were clearly some decent technology.

Once they were gone, he stood up and began to explore the junkyard in search of a scrap of cloth to hide his damaged leg with.





‘Something nice’ were generally the most dangerous types of targets, as it took quite a while to find what was best to take. There were often norms. When robbing a store, the idea was to take either the money, or the most valuable piece of inventory. When cleaning out a private residence Ren knew to look for the lady’s chambers because that’s where the jewelry would be kept. That said, stealing for someone with power was generally not about profit. It was a political game that Ren knew little about, but seemed to revolve around relative levels of wealth and security. Smash orders—orders to break into a place and destroy valuable pieces of art or other objects—were roughly as common as ‘get something nice’, but neither were typical jobs. Typically, Ren would be asked to acquire specific items. The wedding brooch from the Amano estate had been one such. But a Courthouse was new to Ren. Once he hadn’t seen any red uniforms in a while, he had grown somewhat anxious about the unknowns of this new type of target.

Ren walked past the stalls in the street, looking at the front entrance across the way. The courthouse was built in victorian gothic style, a monolith quite unlike the hobbled structures of the rest of the city. Two guards in trim navy blue police uniforms stood at either side of a staircase, the light gray stone steps leading up to the massive wooden doors which generally stayed shut. The odd person who actually entered the building entered from a smaller door on the side of the main entrance. The land surrounding the courthouse was largely open and bare, and above the three- or four-story stone building there was nothing for at least ten levels. Around level 15 and up to at least level 25 there were cables and a few smaller iron bridges traversing the largely empty space, but there was sufficient room to allow large beams of sunlight through. It was now late morning and the air was encased in a hot and humid yet golden ambience. The courthouse created a sort of bubble effect; a place removed from the city both aesthetically and socially. To anyone who lived in Mariah City, courthouses were inconsequential, but at the same time and in some unfathomable way, the fungal growth of the iron jungle never encroached upon the domain of buildings like these.

Ren ducked into an alleyway and sat down, still able to see the front steps of the courthouse through the chairs of a small outdoor cafe. He had already been around the entire perimeter once. His feet were starting to hurt and he had yet to find a way in.

Courthouses were far outside of Ren’s experience. He had only been in a courthouse once that he could remember, and by what little that was, a courthouse held a boring interior filled with offices. He knew there were holding cells for prisoners somewhere but had no idea where in a courthouse they would be kept. As if they would have anything to steal.

Sneaking in at night was not an option, as most likely the lights would turn on and the guard remain the same. Moving around inside in the daytime was not an option either, as frankly, Ren did not look like someone who belongs in a courthouse.

What the fuck am I supposed to do here? Ren thought. What did a courthouse have to steal? Was Ren supposed to find valuable documents? How would he know which ones were valuable? Maybe this particular courthouse, with its fancy exterior, also had a fancy interior and thus actually had valuable art pieces on display. If it did—and that was what Ren was supposed to get here—getting it out would be difficult at best. Ren grimaced, shaking his head. The entire affair seemed terrible, but at the same time, these jobs sometimes went like that: you never knew what to steal until you got inside. So he’d just have to get inside and see.

Not seeing a way inside, however, he sighed and let his mind wander. Truth was, Mary had been on his mind quite a bit. As much as his mind rebelled from the idea that Mary could be powerless in whatever situation she was in, he knew she could be. His big sister was strong, but she was still human. He had to find her, somehow. He thought back to the disappearing man—someone with strange powers like that couldn’t go unnoticed. Who would know? He’d ask Martin later, but he was just a mechanic. He knew a few people that Mary worked with, some in service of the Don and some not, but none of them did he know well enough to ask favors from. He stared at the courthouse. And furrowed his brow. Asking the police wasn’t a normal thing to consider, but maybe…

The city government was an organization of do-gooders. Or at least that’s how they thought of themselves. They were different from district police—district police were owned by barons. The city government wasn’t a baron, nor did it seemed owned by anyone. Even while not owned, it had a presence in most districts—some more than others, but the city government and the district police forces seemed to coexist without any clear physical boundaries between territories. Furthermore, the government spoke as if it were a single entity, even when it wasn’t. If it was, it’d be large and powerful, and then Ren supposed it would be something like the church, which also had extra-territorial presence in Mariah city. But the way the city government spoke of itself, it was an organization of do-gooders. Ren wondered if they’d listen to a story about a missing sister.

The guards regarded him arbitrarily as he approached, suddenly more attentive and responsible to their surroundings. Both were middle-aged men, clean shaven and sweating profusely in the heat around their navy-blue uniforms. Ren continued to walk towards the entrance. A guard stepped in his way, holding up a hand. “Whoa there. What’s your business, kid?”

Ren swallowed his urge to kick the man and attempted as innocent a face as he could possibly manage. “I need to see the police.”

“What for?”

“My sister went missing. I think she's in trouble.”

The man looked up, obviously annoyed and inconvenienced. Then the other guard stepped in. “How about you tell us what your sister looks like, and then we can go in later and tell the police to look for her, how's that?”

Lying faggot. Ren's mind raced. “I want to tell them myself. I need to go inside. Please.” Ren nearly vomited the last line.

The first guard put a hand on Ren's shoulder. “Look, kid...” and the second cut him off again, but this time, didn't say anything. The man furrowed his brow and stared at Ren for a moment. Ren swallowed. Surely they weren’t in cahoots with the red soldiers. That was a coincidence that didn’t happen in Mariah city. The guard addressed his partner. “Why don't we escort him in.” The man started to protest but a silent exchange passed between them. Ren watched, trying to decipher what was going on. The man's hand was still on his shoulder, but he could twist it off and run if he needed to. But at the same time, he was getting a free pass in. Calm down. Your plan worked, that’s all. As he followed the leading officer opened the door to where the man beckoned Ren inside, Ren only hoped that this wasn’t an egregious error that he would pay for in full by the end of the day.



The interior of the courthouse was a mixture of undressed stale antiquity and a standard regimen—a draining combination that seemed to give one the wish that they were elsewhere. It reflected well the lack of briskness in the sparsely-thronged stone corridors lit by unpolished golden chandeliers. The air had a dusty and metallic smell to it, and it was no cooler inside than out. The two guards had escorted Ren down two flights of stairs into the lower levels, making several turns until they had reached their destination. “Right in here,” the more amicable watchmen directed into an open doorway. Ren stepped inside a large room filled with office cubicles crammed between the stone walls. They passed through one office, through a secure door and into another. In this one, behind a reception counter and a gaunt middle-aged woman typing on a computer glanced up irascibly as they walked in and then went back to work without a word. “Sit down here. We're going to find someone who can help you,” The guard said.

As he watched the guards knock on a different secured door then disappear behind it, he wondered what exactly was standard procedure here and whether they were following it, as something definitely seemed off about the situation ever since they decided to escort him in. Though at any rate, he was now inside the courthouse. He watched the woman behind the counter, wondering when was best to disappear inside the building. If he got up too early it would definitely be suspicious. But as Ren prepared to get up, the door opened again and the ill-tempered guard reappeared, and stood next to the door watching Ren. Guess I'll wait.

The guard had his hand on the pistol at his side. As Ren noticed this, he felt the sense of impending doom creep into his mind. The man's facial expression had also changed. They stared at each other, Ren faking innocence and the man more alert, business-like, maybe even a little scared. Void anything else, he was no longer bored with his job. Something was happening and Ren was undoubtedly at the wrong end of it.

The path to the door from which they entered, to Ren's left, was roughly three meters, the man standing to the side of this path where he could easily intercept Ren should he decide to run. That, or shoot him. There was a wall behind him, counter to the right, and the counter in the front where the woman was working only a second before. Ren tried to retain a calm appearance while devising an exit strategy. Five minutes passed. The guard had relaxed somewhat and was glancing around the room, but always looking back to check on Ren.

The secure door opened and his partner reentered, shutting the door behind him. Ren noticed no change in his facial expression as he approached Ren and sat down next to him--to his left, between him and the door.

He took off his helmet, wiped his brow, and took out a pad and pencil from his breast pocket. Ren noticed the nameplate, an Officer David. "Now. We have someone coming who's going to be taking your case but in the meantime, I'm going to ask you some questions that may help us find… Mm, what did you say it was?” Close but no cigar, Dave, Ren thought. “My sister.” Ren replied. He had no choice but to play along for now. He had to wait for an opportunity.

"First of all, what's your name?"

"Maki."

David paused, but wrote it down. “Family name?”

“I don't know it...” It wasn't an unusual answer in this city.

“Who do you work under?”

“No one.”

"Where do you live?”

Ren hesitated. “Level 12 Okhan, 02775.”

“Alright, um... well, describe your sister for me.”

Ren wondered if giving them Mary’s actual description would be of any use, but quickly decided it wasn’t. This was clearly a farce. “She's...short. With black hair.”

“Younger than you?”

“Yeah.”

“What was she wearing when you last saw her?”

The questioning continued for another ten minutes. The man questioning Ren showed no sign of anything amiss, but the other kept watching him with a hand still on his weapon. While making up answers to the questions Ren continued to think of a way out, but saw nothing. Then again, nothing was happening. No, something was happening—Ren simply wasn’t in on it.

“Hey.” The other guard signaled Officer David and nodded his head in the direction of the exit door. The man asked Ren to stay there for a moment, and got up. Ren watched as he walked out the open doorway, then stood at attention and saluted to someone Ren couldn't see. Ren listened closely, and picked out a group of people walking down the hall towards the room, stopping just before the guard.

“Thanks for coming down,” David greeted, and closed the distance until he was just out of sight. They were speaking quietly but Ren was still able to pick up the guard's voice who was louder and clearer than most people.

“That's right,” the policeman in the hall replied. "Name doesn't match, but it fits the photo you gave us. Here on legit business but I thought I'd call down to make sure. There's no trouble or anything, is there?"
The other guard, still standing by the secure door and watching him, crossed his arms. Ren stared, and he stared back.

“Right, your business. I understand, sir... Uh, missing person?”

The other guard sighed, obviously more relaxed. He looked around the room.

“Absolutely. I appreciate her kindness in allowing inter-agency cooperation. We at the magistrate are quite proud to work together to keep Mariah safe.”

At this the guard rolled his eyes, rubbed his temples. He knocked on the secure door and leaned against the wall.

“Yes. Right this way sir.” The do-gooder watchman reappeared, pulling a photo from his pocket and handing it to the man just coming into view. With the events as they were unfolding, Ren anticipated the red and gold uniform. But it wasn’t. It was khaki. He looked up at the man who had just walked in—an older gentleman with neatly combed-back gray hair in a pressed khaki shirt tucked into matching slacks with a trim black belt. While not the uniform Ren had expected, this somehow gave the air of a military unit as well. A younger pair—a man and a woman in the same getup, filed in behind the leader and Ren saw others through the door behind them.

The man nodded. “Yes, this is him,” he said, turning to the policeman again. “We’ll take it from here. Ensign Baud, if you please.” The older man moved to leave as the woman stepped forward.

“Ren-under-Sunaki. You are hereby ordered by Lady Theresa Elstar to submit to our custody. Under Public Security Act A77, you are hereby suspended of your rights as a citizen of Mariah City. All statements and actions may be recorded for evaluation by the War Tribunal and can and will affect… Hey!”

Ren launched himself from the chair and pushed over the old man just as he opened the secure door. The man grunted in surprise and Ren tore out of the room, running into the other khaki-clad soldiers grouped outside the door. In the tangle of arms and legs Ren managed to get his legs under him, but before he could run away an arm had grabbed his shirt. The other policemen who had been watching him earlier had Ren’s shirt in his grip, gnashing his teeth and attempting to grab Ren’s neck. Ren ducked and spun out of the shirt, tripped over a leg, and righting himself, took off through the office. Clerical workers were standing up to see the commotion until someone started shooting, at which point Ren flew over a flimsy cubicle divider into the flurry of panicked and screaming desk jockeys that had just complicated the fray, turning the spacious room into a tightly packed beehive.

“HOLD YOUR FIRE!” someone behind him shouted. Ren, now shirtless, tried to shove his way through the throng of people, having moderate success and sustaining minor injuries in the process but broke free to a doorway in the back and rushed out into the stone corridor along with the fleeing city workers, leaving the soldiers in the crowded chaotic room. No sooner did Ren feel the relief than an alarm began blaring throughout the building. Ren sighted a stairwell and dashed up it, around the corner to the first basement level, and then what should have been the ground level of the courthouse. As he continued down the hall as fast as he could, doors were shutting one after another. A lockdown drill, Ren realized. Were the police always this competent? Ren turned a corner, scanning for doors that remained open. Tore into one, nearly tripped on the mop bucket before catching himself and continuing down the hall. After the janitor's closet and two bathrooms, he struck upon a jam without a door which led to a circular stone staircase, which without thinking he continued on upwards.

Coming out onto the third floor he realized with a chill that he was cutting himself off. Going higher was a viable escape strategy in most places, but the Courthouse didn’t have upper levels, nor did it connect to the outside. The only exits were on the ground level. He could survive a three-level fall, but it’d be smarter not to try it. He bolted back down the stairwell, spinning around the central column until he saw the navy-suited police force coming up the stairwell from the and he went back up. Ren burst back out onto the third floor and ran down the wide, empty hallway. All doors were shut, most likely locked by now. There was a door at the end. Simple interior door, not reinforced. Ren hoped, anyway, as he dashed headlong for it. With no time to turn off the pain receptors in his legs, he gritted his teeth and jumped, kicking with both feet sideways into the door with a splintering crash. He and a cloud of dust and fiberglass debris tumbled into a smaller corridor running perpendicular to the main hall. He helped himself up by the stone wall he had run his shoulder into as a couple gunshots exploded around him. Apparently holding fire no longer applied. Need to find more people, Ren thought as he flew down this new hallway. There were a series of windows to his right, indicating he had reached the far outer wall on the third floor. He found an open doorway and ducked into it. And slowed down, having entered a dark room. Hearing his pursuers behind him, he only paused a moment for his eyes to adjust before hiding behind a large aluminum tank. He had found some sort of utility room. He shut his mouth, swallowing and quieting his breathing, wondering if they would pass. The footsteps caught up and stopped for a brief moment.

“Sir!”

“Lieutenant, take Lee and keep heading that way!” Two continued down the hall. “What are you waiting for, get in there!” Listening, Ren picked out 2 men moving quickly, guessing the third waiting at the entrance. Ren quietly moved around the tank some more. The two grunts had slowed down, their eyes not yet adjusted, and they were still in the center of the room, the large tanks, a boiler and a fan surrounding them on all three sides. Ren found a ladder going up the wall, and spotted catwalks. He started up.

“What are you doing, men, get in there. It’s just one kid. He’s quick, but I’m pretty sure he won’t bite. Yell if you see anything.” Ren slipped onto the catwalk in the left corner of the room with the doorway directly down by his right where the officer was standing, weapon at the ready. One grunt went to the right side of the room, the other had come to the left, and was nearly below Ren. Noticing the catwalk led into the next room, Ren started to move before they could grow any more accustomed to the dark, gliding on all fours to limit the pressure on any one point, preventing noise the best he could on the iron catwalk. He paused once to listen to their locations and continued on. They hadn't found the ladders yet. He soon crossed through the passage and entered what appeared to be a maintenance room, with humming electrical racks and cleaning supplies. The door was closed, so Ren climbed down the ladder and onto the concrete floor. He checked the door. It was unlocked. Ren locked it until he could figure out his next move.
The hallway probably wasn't the best idea, but nor was going back the way he came. There was a chance that they would abandon the room before they discovered the catwalks, but it wasn't enough to bank on. He still needed to get out of the building quickly, but judging from the time he had already wasted, all the main exits were most likely secured by now. He could still jump, but besides the risk to his legs that would undoubtedly result in a chase through the city—and the red guards were out there too. Ren gritted his teeth. What in the holy red mother is going on?

Perhaps it was best to disappear inside the courthouse and wait until nightfall to escape. If he kept moving he could remain undetected. It would surely give him enough time to find the right thing to steal, if he were to actually complete the job in these conditions. Ren took a slow, deep but controlled breath, looking around the room. He then spotted a small metal door in the side of the wall opposite the wall he had entered through. He went to it and opened it upwards. Hit by the smell, it was apparently a trash chute. It led down, curving and at least went as far as the first floor. It wasn't appealing, but it was the best option. He went back into the room and found a long extension cord and tied it to the handle of the door, then, rethinking, he looked into the trash chute again, and then united and replaced the cord where it came from. Can’t have them discovering it later. I’ll just have to go for it. He ran back, flipped a light switch by the door to turn off the work light, and then, very carefully, climbed into the small opening.

Ren worked his way down the trash chute, pressing his shoes against the corners and his back against the metal interior. The lockdown alarm, while muffled, was still sounding and Ren heard running footsteps outside his four narrow aluminum walls. He had passed the second floor, making his way onto the first. Just a little farther. But then there was no door where he imagined the first floor to be. The chute seemed to continue underground. Ren pressed on.

It was quite a considerable distance to the bottom, and thankfully Ren saw the end of the chute before he completely ran out of strength. The alarm had faded considerably. This was likely 30 meters underground at least. He let go and slid on his pants the remaining 2 meters and flew out of the wall to land gracelessly in a plastic dumpster, sending it tumbling over and projecting a pile of trashbags along with himself rolling into the concrete-floored room. He somersaulted upright, prepared to run but there was no one in the room.

Ren drew back between 2 still-upright dumpsters and waited. He could vaguely hear the alarm reverberating through the chute he had come down. His breath was heavy and his muscles ached but he kept his breathing as shallow as he could. He also stank, he realized with a grimace. Directly in front of him there was a chain link fence, and beyond it was dark. After a moment of silence—nothing moving in this underground room, Ren relaxed. No one was here, and no one was likely to look for him here. He stood up and looked around the utility space. There was some unknown sort of electrical equipment on a table to one side. Another small round metal table with a single chair was relegated to another corner, atop it an orange plastic mug resting dry. A small staircase was situated through a jamb-less doorway, which looked like it only led up. Ren supposed this was his escape route, but not for some time. Hiding seemed the best option. Ren approached the chain link fence and peered into the darkness.

A warehouse. An incredibly large one, at that. As far as he could see were iron trusses leading up to the ceiling perhaps 8 meters above, and among the truss structures at ground level, hundreds of crates. Ren slipped through the cracked-open gate and walked inside. Each unit of truss structures was two meters cubed, the “hall” in which Ren was walking standing at two trusses on either side—4 meters high. The warehouse was not completely dark as was his first impression. At the end of each row of trusses a single lone bulb provided a modest amount of light—enough to see by, anyway, but not enough to light the space. The air was cold and dry, and the smell was a mixture of iron and sulfer. After three long rows, Ren reached the back of the warehouse. He then deviated and pushed aside some hanging burlap cloth on the trusses. It was an excellent place to hide, but if he was going to be hiding in a warehouse he might as well see what the place had to offer. Maybe he’d find something that would satisfy the Don after all.

The crates were manufactured from a strong fiber-plastic and aluminum bars. Ren pulled the thin bars on top loose to unlock the crate, and lifted the lid. Shadows preventing him from seeing inside, he reached in and felt around, lifting a heavy metallic object from the crate and moving it into the light. Machine gun. Not what Ren was expecting, certainly, but warranted, given his location. He replaced it, noting that the crate was quite full.

After stopping to listen to the silence and ensure again that no one was down with him in the warehouse, he proceeded to check other crates. More weapons. More weapons. He padded across the ‘hall’ to the next row. More weapons. Ren suddenly wondered if the entire warehouse was filled with weapons. Something about that seemed unreasonable. He moved for a distant location, moving through the storage areas, found another walkway, went down it for approximately ten meters, then turned right and proceeded to open another crate.

More weapons. How many of these are there here? he wondered. He took one out and brought it into the dim light of the row-end, crouching next to a vertical post. Same model. Ren wasn't quite familiar with guns, but he could surmise that it was some sort of assault rifle, and at least semi-automatic, if Ren's guesswork was of any merit. It was smooth, black, shorter than most rifles and made of metal and plastic. It looked somewhat similar to the ones the red soldiers were carrying, but maybe they all looked like that. It wasn't as if Ren saw military weapons everyday. Up until a week ago, pistols were an upper echelon in his type of assignments—and even pistols he’d never used himself. Mary didn’t like guns, besides.

He replaced the gun and moved on. The warehouse, in Ren's mind, had turned into an Armory. Taking some weapons for his cleanout order came to mind, but he quickly dismissed it. Machine guns, while undoubtedly valuable to the Don, didn't make a good price-per-weight ratio. The way things were going, Ren could probably only make it out unharmed with a single gun. Ren shook his head. What else could there be to take in a courthouse?

While twisting among more crates going further into the armory, Ren made up his mind. He wouldn't take anything, but learn as much about this place as he could and bring the information to the Don. Given the magnitude of this armory, it just might appease him. Which meant he needed to figure out exactly where those stairs led in relation to the courthouse’s front entrance.

Walking through the light, Ren suddenly noticed the markings on the crates around him had changed color. He quickly opened one and pulled out a silver plastic package. Dehydrated food. He moved to other sections, finding medical supplies, explosives, shovels, and vehicle parts before stopping and sitting on a crate. It had been roughly twenty minutes since he came down the chute, leaving at least six hours until sundown, and probably an hour until he had some friends to play hide-and-seek with. He had to get busy making a mental map of this place if his plan was to pay out. This job, Ren thought, really sucks. He grabbed a package of food and sat down against a crate.

As he was eating crackers with a thick mush that may have been either stew or gravy, he spied through the trusses the entry into a lit room in the side of the concrete wall. He lifted himself up, and carrying the package of food with him, moved towards the light quietly. He stopped at the final row before the wall, and looking around it, he saw and heard no one. Not even the alarm, if it was still sounding, penetrated into the warehouse. The only sound was a faint electrical buzz with no clear source. He stepped up to the door and peered sideways inside. As expected, there was no one inside, and he stepped in.

There were two long tables in the center of the room, papers stacked and strewn across most of them. While the overhead fluorescent light was on, the reading lamps attached to each of the tables were off. On the sides of the room were more tables, more papers, and a computer. Ren wondered if he could carry the computer out, but it looked too heavy. Might still be worth it though--computers were valuable. Maybe that was what the Don wanted. Around a large gas tank Ren found a steel door. He listened carefully, but heard nothing, and pushed the handle down. It squealed loudly as it opened, making Ren cringe. There was a staircase beyond. Ren frowned. Another exit? He had plenty to investigate. He listened without moving for a while but heard nothing still. It was as if the warehouse and this tiny underground room were nonexistent in relation to the Courthouse proper, even while still beneath it. He closed the door slowly, trying to mitigate the sound as much as possible—mostly failing, but he felt reasonably secure that no one could have heard. He turned and looked around the room again.

There was a monitor screen on the far wall that Ren hadn’t seen before, but it was black. To his left the wall was covered in maps. Multiple maps, large and small, with all sorts of markings on them. Ren recognized a map of the city when he saw one, and he noticed that a few of the maps were not. Ren couldn’t read maps, however, so he couldn’t tell what the maps were of. This one seemed to cover a larger area, though. He dipped another cracker in the stew and chewed it absently as he ran his eyes over it. Mariah. He leaned closer. A small dot. Ren had never seen a map that covered this much area. There were other dots; must be other cities, Ren thought. There were other lines to the map and text that Ren didn’t understand, and on top of the map there was red-inked notes and annotations. He gave up trying to decipher the map and moved on.

On the opposite wall there were a collection of photos. Ren idly moved around to look at them, scraping the last of the stew out of its plastic receptacle. A few of the photos were connected with pinned strings and tagged with small notes. A man in a suit. In custody. Unknown operative. Deceased. Minority faction leader? Location unknown. Grand-nephew of third (third what? Ren thought), deceased. And then he stopped. A black and white photo to the right, curled around the edges, stood out. He set down the package of food and went to it. It was the disappearing man, without a doubt. It may have been a bit of an older picture, but the beard and the hat were spot-on. Ren read the note below the photo. “’White-Wolf’, high-ranking operative. Location unknown.” That was it. Ren stared at the picture again, now with a name. White-Wolf. He stepped back and looked at the pictures again. What was this? Whoever used this room was tracking a group that White-Wolf apparently belonged to. Maybe Ren could find the name of the group. No, more than that. He looked at the tables scattered with documents, and he knew what he was taking. He remembered seeing rucksacks in one of the crates in the warehouse. He’d get one later. At a glance, he saw the headers of some of the documents to have the police logo. He wondered if he should take the maps, but decided better of it—they were probably too big anyway. But the photos he could take. Maybe with this photo Martin might know something about who White Wolf might be.

He picked up the empty food packaging and moved towards the door leading back into the warehouse, but his eye caught on a scene he recognized and he stopped again.

It was a side profile shot of Mary, her hand resting on the back of his wheelchair. It was 8 years ago, and they were standing in the desert rain. Mary was looking at something out of the frame, and young Ren had his head bowed, staring into his lap. She was in a black t-shirt and jeans, the tattoo on her right arm just barely showing. His younger self was dressed in an oversized black long-sleeved shirt and olive shorts that ended without legs. It was their mother’s funeral. His eyes watered—more from the shock of seeing this scene here than anything—and he swallowed and read the notes. “Red-Wolf,” it said. “Real name unknown. Operative. There was also “Location unknown,” but it was crossed out. Underneath, on additional handwritten notes, were “Level 30 Mai 03400”—it was dated last week. “Under Sunaki” read another note, which was dated three weeks ago. On the photo itself an arrow pointed to him, and he found a recent photo of himself pinned to the wall as well. Following it: “Family?” and directly underneath, “Ren”, under Sunaki Level 30 Mai 03400. Association unknown. In red pen at the bottom, as a final note, “warrant: PubSec A77” --dated yesterday.

What the fuck is all this? Ren leaned back and ran a hand through his dirty black hair. He swallowed and decided he’d have plenty of time to figure it out later. He looked around the room. He had to go back into the warehouse to hide and couldn’t leave traces of his being here in case anyone showed up, but maybe they wouldn’t miss a document missing in the meantime. He grabbed one of the papers off the table and stepped out of the room to find a place to read.

Ren woke up to the general clanking and buzzing of metalwork. He was slumped against the side of a worktable in Martin's shop near one of the walls. A blanket had been put over him. He threw it off and noticed a shirt laying beside him. It was a dark blue long sleeved shirt of light material. He put it on. Escaping from the courthouse went largely as planned, a simple matter once the guard was regularized and darkness fell. Ren did neglect to map out the armory, though. He had been busy reading.

“Trash-boy awakens. I didn’t even have to kiss him,” Martin said irritably. He looked quite elfish today wearing green overalls and a red bandana.

Ren squinted in the light and ignored Martin’s jibe. “I have some things to ask you.”

Martin raised his round welding goggles. “Were these questions so important to show up in my shop in the middle of the night half-naked, battered and bruised and smelling like wet manure? God when I opened the door this morning…”

“What do you know about the Court of the Red Moon Matriarch?” Ren cut Martin off.

Martin was silent for a moment, immobile, confoundedly trying to digest Ren's exclamation. “Depends on who you ask. But why...?”

"Well I'm asking you, dipshit." Ren moved back to the table where he was sleeping and retrieved the small cloth bag he had found to carry the documents.

Martin shut his mouth, a little perturbed. He sighed, letting it go. “The Court of the Red Moon Matriarch...honestly I'm not sure. I've heard the name, yes. If it exists it’s certainly a secretive organization. Rumor has it they work for the church but to my knowledge that's never been proven. I do know,” he said, watching Ren rummage through the bag, “that at least several of the local nobility, and/or the government, all believe the Court is some sort of terrorist group...” Martin trailed off as Ren pulled out stacks of papers and documents, some rolled, some folded, most of them crumpled to various degrees. “Alright, what is all that?” Martin asked. Ren found the crumpled photo and hurriedly flattened it and handed it to Martin.

“That!” he said, pointing to the photo, “that's the guy that took my sister!”

Martin, still quite waylaid by Ren's bewildering display, took off his gloves and cross his arms, leaning back against a worktable. “You're saying this man is a member of the Court of the Red Moon Matriarch? How...no, Ren, where did you get this?”

“At the courthouse in Harrol district.”

“Of course. And you were at a courthouse in Harrol because…?”

“I don't know, the Don sent me there.”

“And these?” Martin asked, walking to the mess of documents and picking up a large bound volume and flipping through it. “I take it they weren't simply handing these out. The Don?” Martin glanced up, having registered Ren’s response. “No. I doubt that. The Don doesn't have many dealings in Harrol and even less in courthouses.” Ren began to protest but Martin held up a hand. “Fine. Yes. The Don sent you there. Ok.” Martin put the package down and looked again at the large black and white poster-photo. “He's the one you were talking about before, then?”

"Yeah," Ren began rummaging through the pile again and found the scrap of paper that was attached. As he was about to give it to Martin when the phone rang. Martin walked over to the back corner of the room by the milling machine and picked up, holding the earpiece and speaking into the funnel mic on the box.

Ren rubbed his forehead, then spotted the picture of Mary laying among the papers and picked it up.

“Yes, he's here.” Martin and Ren looked at each other. “Shall I send him up?” Ren swallowed, hoping it wasn't the Don's secretary. “Ah...alright then. Certainly, um, that's quite an honor. Yes. Right away, got it.” Martin appeared confused again. He hung up a moment later.

“Who was that?” Ren asked gravely, fearing the answer.

“The Don.”

Ren looked at Martin, equally confused. “You mean...himself?”

Martin nodded.

Ren shrugged it off. “Do I need to go see him, then?”

“Actually...he's coming down here.”

“The Don?”

Martin nodded.

“Down here?”

Martin threw his hands up. “It's not the first time he's surprised me. Ah, perhaps I should clean up a bit,” he said, looking around the room. “No, no, what does he care, I'll just...you may want to put all that away.” He walked over to help Ren and then saw the picture of Mary that Ren was holding. For a moment there was a tense silence.

“She's a member of the Court too,” Ren said after a while.

"Mary?" Martin whispered.

Ren turned the picture over his hand.

“Ren, what's going on?”

“Hell if I know! I've been being chased down by two different private armies for the past two days! Apparently they think I’m a member of the Court too.”

“If they've been trying to track down Mary as a terrorist, then you could be targeted as well by association and treated as a war criminal. Actually, for that to happen, they would have to have a sanction under… hmm, what was it again. The Security Acts?”

“Something about Public Security A77?”

“Yeah...” Martin put a hand over his mouth. "Oh god, Ren. Well, put it away for now, the Don...the Don will be down here any minute. This is so unusual maybe we’ll both figure out what’s going on.”

Martin walked slowly over to the worktable where his current project lay, but didn't work on it. Ren hurriedly shoved papers into the bag. He had almost finished when they heard the loud, raucaus voice of Don Sunaki reverberating down the iron-plated hallway. The door opened, and the Don rolled right in, the others waiting outside the door behind the massive form of Don Sunaki standing in the doorway. Ren shoved the bag onto the floor and stood by out of way.

“God what a dump!” the Don said loudly. “You dirty fag, never learn.” Ah, I heard you'd be down here," he spoke to Ren. “How's it going, boy?”

“Good, Don. I ran into some complications but I brought you something you might be interested in.”

The Don frowned. “Ran into complications where?”

“The Courthouse. In Harrol, Don.” Ren looked up with a slightly confused look on his face.

The Don frowned. “A courthouse? Why the hell would I send you to a courthouse? No matter—we’ll talk about that later. There’s someone here to see you.” He held up a hand to those behind him and walked over to Ren. Though they were roughly the same height, the Don leaned down to whisper near Ren’s neck. Ren could smell aftershave and alcohol. “Watch your manners kid. I got this one on good,” the Don said, breaking a toothy grin. “You know?” Then the Don stood back and called, “Come on in, dear. It’s a bit dirty but whatever your little heart desires, eh?”

Someone called out from the passageway, “Announcing the Lady Theresa Elstar of Okhan!” The lady and bride-to-be of the Earl de'Amarlo strolled gracefully into the biomech room wearing an extravagant ceremonial dress of embroidered gold. Behind her, two soldiers in khaki uniforms—the same as the ones from the Courthouse yesterday followed.

Are you fucking kidding me? I ran all that way, and didn’t even go home, and they find me here? Ren stared, speechless, defeated. In his mind he finally made the connection that this is the woman who wanted him captured. The khaki soldiers must be hers. But then who were the red soldiers?

"Everyone leave." she commanded in a calm, demure voice.

“My lady!” one of the soldiers protested.

“Leave me.”

“Ma'am!" a soldier spotted the bag full of documents on the other side of the table.

“Take what you need later.”

“Come on, you lumps!” the Don yelled. “The lady wants her privacy.”

“That includes you, Don.”

He smiled broadly. “Of course, my dearest. Come on, gaylord, you too!” Martin reluctantly followed the Don out the door, casting a worried glance at Ren.

The door closed. Ren was silent, waiting for her to speak. The woman moved gracefully past him, the fringe of her dress brushing his hand. He heard her pull out the chair under the desk against the wall.

“Sit.”

Ren thought through the possibilities, but didn’t see many. There was only one way out of the workshop, after all. He got up and moved to the chair, and sat down. The woman approached a piece of machinery Martin had been working on and looked at the disassembled pieces laying on the worktable. Ren could hear the Don's voice talking in a loud but indistinct voice, muffled behind the door. He seemed to be berating Martin.

“For a petty thief with no history, you're a remarkably easy person to find,” the woman said.

Ren said nothing.

“I'm told you already know what it is I'm looking for.” She picked up a nut, looked at it, and gracefully placed it on its bolt and screwed it on leisurely. She was exactly as Ren remembered her. Complacent, emotionless, a mystery.

Ren didn’t know, of course. “If you're looking for your brooch, the Don has it.”

"My fiancé told you it held no value. Although...” she said, slipping off her right glove and then picking up one of the small parts, “perhaps it really was a bit of a lucky item.” She snapped the part into its place and began connecting its pins one by one. “Led me right to you.”

Ren glanced over at what she was doing. It was an ephemeral sight, a delicate woman of high class assembling biomechanical equipment, objective as a queen with a serene yet blank face, but her hands deft, without hesitation. She knew what she was doing.

“Where is your sister?”

Ren looked back to the door, listening to the muffled ruckus outside. “I don't know.”

“Who is her point of contact?”

“Her what?”

“Who is your point of contact?”

“I don't know anything about that! Look, you're too late, ok?!”

She stopped assembling the machinery to look at Ren.

“They already took her away.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Explain yourself. Who are ‘they’?”

Just then a loud knock on the door sounded twice. They could hear the Don's loud voice and the guard's protest, but the door opened the Don rolled in once again.

“My lady. I was just thinking,”

“Don, please leave.” Her voice was calm as she continued to put the device together.

A guard came in after the Don. “I’m sorry, lady, but he…”

"Of course!” the Don replied. “Right after I invite you to dinner tonight. Look, I know the kind of life you nobles lead, and it’s just terrible, all cooped up like that. This whole marriage to Amarlo is a sham. You need to expand your horizons, you know. There’s a lot to life out here.”

“Don, please leave.” the woman repeated herself.

“Spend some time here. I can show you how real business gets done. Maybe later we can talk about the future, huh?” She turned to look at Don Sunaki with an icy glare. The Don seemed to misinterpret it. “That’s right. You see men who come from nothing and reach the top like me, we know things.” The Don took a step towards her. “We have culture. Real culture. Not that inbred shit the Amarlo’s call tradition.” He stepped closer to her, his voice dropping to a loud whisper. “I’m going to show you so much.”

The woman turned, reached into her dress, pulled out a thin-barreled black and silver-embellished pistol, raised it to the Don's head, and fired. The massive Don Sunaki flew backwards and landed face-up on the floor, his face a disgusting mixture of pleasurable anticipation he had felt a second earlier and surprise.
Ren flinched at the second gunshot.

“Colonel.”

Another skullcap came into the room and stood at attention. “Ma'am!”

“Take the boy into custody. We're leaving.”

As the colonel forced him up to restrain him, Ren, his ears still ringing, stared at the motionless form of the Don, lying with what would be a funny face next to the wall now dripping with the splattered blood down the widening pool on the floor. He had never liked the man, but never once did he consider the possibility of Don Sunaki's death. As one would expect of a baron, the man was infallible. The guard instructed him to move, which he did so, in a daze.

They moved towards the exit, following the beautiful, graceful form of the elaborately dressed woman. She stopped to address Martin. “You work here, yes?”

Martin was fidgety, his hands clasped nervously in front of him. “Yes. Yes Ma'am.”

“Good, then you can clean up. I want the late Don's head secretary to report to me at Lord Amarlo's estate tonight before sundown.” Martin nodded shakily.

The soldier beckoned Ren towards the exit, and they followed the woman up the stairs. Martin stood by silently as they passed.




As they broke out on to the street outside Ren saw there were three cars waiting. A few guards had cleared everyone out of the area and were holding the perimeter more by a show of arms than by physical presence. It was more than enough: turf wars were normal for Mariah city, but usually not with trained soldiers with assault rifles. The noblewoman was already stepping towards the middle car; a soldier rushed to open a door for her.

The soldier holding Ren’s arm shoved him into the middle seat of the rear car, and he was soon sandwiched between two of them. The car started, and a moment later the car was rolling. Ren looked up at the Don’s tower. He didn’t have much of a mind for politics, but he knew what had just happened was big. The Don’s death would cause a lot of trouble for a lot of people. Who would take over the Don’s territory? He guessed this woman, whether she was violent, powerful, or simply impulsive, meant to take over, judging by what she said earlier. The Don’s tower stood fittingly dark and silent, a looming giant shadow against the dead morning light. As the car moved past, a hunched figure came into silhouette on a corner of the third level. He only caught a glimpse of Maki before the Don’s tower was behind them.

As the car rumbled through the streets, Ren saw a fistfight on the side of the road. People were obviously yelling, but the sound was so muffled by the dimmed glass it was as if they were shouting from a far distance. To the front of the car, he couldn’t see over the dash to see the street, but he saw the top of the car in front of them, and the buildings of Okhan district. The direction they were heading was definitely the Earl de’Amarlo’s estate. Ren chilled thinking of the otherworldly man, and put the Earl out of his mind. Still, he was in some big trouble. Martin had said Ren was considered a state terrorist or something now. He might not survive this one. He swallowed his rising nausea.

“God this smell is going to make me puke,” said the man to Ren’s left.

“Yeah. Good things it’s a short trip, right? Gonna have to throw you in a pool or something, kid.”

“Tch. That before or after I’m shot?”

“The guard frowned in an uncomfortable silence and chose to ignore it. After a moment he spoke over Ren to the other guard, “How’d you like the fight last night?”

“It was a lot of fun,” said left, “Didn’t know those kinda places exist. You guys go often?”

“Most weeks. Last night was a big one—Dammer and Cole are crowd favorites, you know?”

“Dammer put up a good fight.”

“Shelley lost half his paycheck.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” they laughed and fell into silence, watching out the windows at the sparse people, mostly watching them back as the car train progressed. Ren wondered if there was a way he could get out the car before they reached the estate. The men had a loose grip on their weapons…if he could grab a rifle and shoot one of them he might have a chance.

He visualized it in his mind and unassumingly flexed his fingers. He took long, slow, quiet breaths to still his breathing—and his heart. He was still nauseous, which didn’t help. Breathing quiet yet deep was difficult but he forced one long breath after another, calming his nerves. Now. He could do it. Wrap one arm around the gun and pull the trigger. Did it have a safety? Some pistols had a safety. He tried to look sideways at the gun, but couldn’t see anything that looked like a latch. He’d just have to risk it. He steeled his arm.

And then the car turned. He looked out the windows at the gates of the estate. They were already here. His gut sank quickly. He had waited too long. Berating himself for losing the chance, he tried again to still his runaway anxiety and control his stomach.

“Alright, kid. Out.”

Ren exited the car and noticed that they didn’t bother holding his arm this time. They thought he couldn’t escape inside the estate walls, he surmised. They were still outside, next to a large row of garages at the bottom of one wing of the mansion. He noticed there were only two cars now—from the guards’ demeanor the car transporting the noblewoman must have gone somewhere else on the estate. Ren took in the sights around him, noting that they were near the outer wall—it was too high for him to jump from this level. He looked up and saw that this side of the estate did have a bridge connecting to the nearby neighborhood, at level 5 or 6 from the looks of it.

“Oh, you’re not going up there. Take him down.”

The guards shoved him forward towards a steel door in a corner between the garage’s wing and the central structure of the building. He was preceded and followed by the soldiers as they led him through the door, and he saw with a sinking feeling that they were going underground. He walked down the concrete stairs, fully conscious of the assault rifle behind his back. The air was cool in the basement, and got cooler as they traversed down more and more flights of stairs. Ren counted 4 levels down before they reached the bottom. They walked down a long hall with white linoleum and fluorescent lights before making two turns and coming to a concrete cell block. The thick glass of the cell walls were arrayed in a line, but the leading soldier stopped at the first one, keying in a code by the door.

Home sweet home, Ren thought as he surveyed the cell. It was all concrete inside. Other than a small hole in the floor for a toilet, it was completely empty. Bare walls, bare ceiling. The guard opened the thick glass door—Ren saw it was at least 6 cm thick, and the man behind him prodded him at gunpoint into the cell.

By this time Ren’s nerved had calmed completely. There was no point in attempting an escape under the conditions, and it didn’t look like he’d be killed anytime soon. After all, that woman apparently thought he had information about his sister. He’d have to use that carefully, but for now…there was nothing to do but allow himself to walk through the glass outer wall and into the cell. He heard them close the door behind him and the sound of the electronic lock beeping. He sighed and listened to them walk away. They started talking about beer in fading voices, and then Ren was alone.

There’s only so much detail one can take in of concrete. After thirty minutes of naming shapes on the wall, Ren sat. And waited.





The moment the elevator door shut Theresa exhaled with a heave. Alone for the first time since she got up today, she rubbed her forehead as the elevator took her up to her private rooms in the Amarlo estate.

She just shot a man.

Normally, that wouldn’t be too terrible an issue but the problem was the man in question. Don Sunaki wasn’t just some lackey that could disappear without consequences. Well, no, actually, now that she was an Amarlo, he was, but getting used to this power was another matter entirely. Her father would have a heart attack just thinking about what she had just done. She removed a white satin glove. Her hand was shaking from the constant tension she had felt since this morning. She breathed slowly and flexed her fingers. She could have a few minutes alone to digest, and then she could get back to work.

The elevator opened and she went immediately past the couch to the mahogany cabinet and grabbed a bottle of merlot. She sat deep into the brown leather sofa, poured a glass and half-sipped, half-drank with her head towards the ceiling. The hour was likely late morning—the city, seen through the french doors leading out onto the balcony, was displayed in full daylight and contrasted with both the coolness of the shaded sitting room and the subtle smell of teak oil, but Theresa’s mind was not on the city. It was on the mountain of things she would have to do to take control of most of Sunaki’s operations without too much open warfare. She shook off the thoughts. They were for later. Her mind turned to the dirty teenage boy that was undoubtedly 5 floors below ground by now. It was an odd coincidence that led her to him—or rather him to her. A coincidence she wouldn’t have bothered receiving had the boy not shown his face to her a second time. Still, he had to be less than 15. Sure, she herself was trained for politics by 12, but the Court of the Red Moon Matriarch was not politics—it was a far more dangerous game. It made the boy essentially a child soldier at least, and probably far worse. She wouldn’t be able to let her guard down with him.

But something didn’t feel right about this narrative. The boy who broke into a mansion of one of the most powerful men in the country (certainly the most powerful man in the city) simply to steal a trinket—a task set to him by an idiotic baron with an ego problem—and then later returned to question her actions—seemed far too naïve to be involved in a shadowy organization full of assassins and political operatives. The more she thought about it, the more she felt there was something she was missing. Could she have been mistaken?

She remembered the bag. She had absent-mindedly taken it from the guard and had unceremoniously dumped it by the end of the sofa as she walked past. Setting her glass of wine on the tabletop of glass embedded in a dark-stained elaborately carved coffee table, she reached over, grabbed the olive-colored canvas rucksack and pulled it onto the couch, noting that while a bit dusty, the bag seemed new. Brushing a stray blond lock of hair out of her face, she opened the bag, took out the piles of documents and pictures within and leafed through them. The contents confused her further, though they did assert that no, the kid actually wasn’t a member of the Court. Unless he took these from someone who was a danger to him or the organization and they had just happened to catch him before he destroyed them, this kid was actually investigating the Court. Trying to find them, maybe? The same as her? The information he had was roughly identical to hers. In fact…the more she looked at details, she more she realized the information was identical. These documents were police communicades… She pursed her lips. Someone was getting fired.

She huffed, threw the papers down and picked the glass up. So the kid somehow stole the documents from the taskforce she and Tobias had created within public security to help track down the Court. She wasn’t even aware yet that there had been a breech. More than one person was getting fired, like as not. But it did say something about the kid himself—in her 28 years of life she at least knew not to employ complete idiots. The boy was capable. Perhaps he really was a member of the Court of the Red Moon Matriarch, and his theft of these documents really was an attempt to sabotage their efforts to track them down. But it still didn’t work in her mind. She drained her glass and stared up at the ceiling.

She’d just have to interrogate him and see what comes out.

But before that, 10 minutes. She could afford 10 minutes.

There was a knock on her door. She almost cried. But a soft bass voice consoled her. “I heard you had returned.” She rose with a genuine smile and smoothed her white and golden brocaded dress. “No, sit,” he implored but she was already up and facing him. He was the picture of ancient beauty, a strongly proportioned chest in a flowing white poet shirt, gleaming raven hair and a jawline cut from marble. This was one of the most powerful men in the world, and it thrilled her immensely in more ways than one. “My Earl,” she greeted. She watched him come in, then realized she only had one glove on. She turned and walked with poise to the cabinet, discreetly sliding off her other glove on the way before retrieving a second wine glass.

Moving aside the dustry rucksack without any heed for it, the Earl de’Amarlo smoothly lounged into the plush cushions of the sofa, facing her with his head reclining on his fist. His gaze was piercing, but warm. He had real affection for her, she knew—she felt it every time she was with him. She began pouring him some wine from the same bottle, but with a tiny gesture he stopped her at less than half full.

“I just killed Don Sunaki,” Theresa said as she was re-corking the bottle.

“Hmm,” he nodded as if she were talking about a children’s fight. “And why is that?”

“Mostly because he was asking for it.”

Tobias smiled. “Such a rash decision.”

“It’s controllable.” She returned to the sofa, leaning into the cushions comfortably but with a conscious attention to grace. “If you play it right,” she said in a half-sultry voice, “you can take control of most of his territory by the end of day, you know.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “I think you mean you can.”

She did, mostly because she had anticipated this reaction. The Earl’s lack of ambition made him a strange figure in the political world. Not that it bothered her too greatly—his lips were too distracting for that. “Yeah. I’ll take care of it.” She smiled coyly at him as he swirled his glass and sipped. She should have poured herself another glass to be courteous, but one was enough for everything she’d soon have to do.

“More importantly,” the Earl intoned after a moment, “what of Red-Wolf? I seem to recall that being your true intent today, rather than simply terrorizing the city.”

“I have her brother in a cell in the basement. I was about to go down to talk to him... Would you like to come along? I think you gave him quite the stir the other day.” The Earl’s warm smile was blank, motionless. The practiced smile of a politician who didn’t know something and didn’t show it. Even in intimate settings his suitability as the heir of the 150-year old Amarlo legacy was apparent. “The thief who came to steal your wedding gift,” she continued teasingly. “It’s the same boy.”

His eyes narrowed in piqued intrigue. “It seems someone’s playing a very interesting game.”

That caught her off guard. It’s true, coincidences like this didn’t happen often. Just like that, Tobias had added another dimension to her thinking. A disconcerting one.

“No... I think I shall leave you to it,” he said after a pause, and lifted himself gracefully off the couch, setting the empty glass on the table. He leaned in to kiss the top of her head, and turned to leave.

“And you?” she said, rising. She was sorry to see him go.

He shot her a suave sideways smile. “The universe does not reveal its secrets to those who wait.”

She was fascinated by his every curve, both physical and figurative, as he turned and exited the room.





Ren couldn’t tell how much time had passed before he heard the door to the prison open. Ren moved quickly to the glass wall fronting his cell and tried to peer down the hall, but he couldn’t see the newcomers until they stood in front of him. It was Theresa again. She didn’t waste time, it seemed. Her elaborate golden and white dress, white gloves, golden hair done up neatly in pinned braids encircling her head, all commanded authority. She had an escort of four soldiers, mostly lower middle aged and healthy enough to make Ren think twice of resisting. The woman stood there, staring at him imperiously, saying nothing. Ren, now in the center of his cell, stared back defiantly. After a moment of wondering why she had come, a fifth soldier came in hurriedly carrying a chair. He set it down in front of the cell and backed away to stand in line. The woman made a gesture and the line departed. After they were gone she took the chair gracefully.

Ren sat down. Not because it was polite—if she really wanted to talk to him here through the cell wall he sure as hell wasn’t going to be standing the entire time. And since he wasn’t getting out the cell yet, there was no need to look for an opening to escape, either.

“You said earlier that your sister had been taken somewhere. What did you mean?” Her voice filtered through a grid of holes in the door’s thick glass.

Ren said nothing. In this situation he couldn’t know what was safe to say.

“Do you mean she was…kidnapped?” the woman ventured.

Ren bit his lip. The woman stared at him for a long time; they each said nothing.

She eventually changed course. “Let’s forget your sister for now. You work for Sunaki, right?”

“Yeah. Well, I did.”

She nodded acquiescence. “Stealing things, I gather.”

Ren grimaced, but there was no point in denying it to her.

“I don’t care about that. I do wonder though…” she said, leaning forward and speaking in a more comfortable tone, “why? Is there a reason you work for Sunaki? I mean there’s plenty of ways an intelligent and obviously healthy boy such as yourself can get work. I wouldn’t exactly consider Sunaki to be prime employment. Or am I wrong?”

Ren squirmed in his crosslegged position. This friendlier tone of hers was a lot more inviting than her attitude every other time he had seen her. He knew he probably shouldn’t answer her, but these questions weren’t so bad… “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“So why?”

“We owed him a debt.”

“Hmm. How much?”
“I don’t know. A lot.”

She paused. “Do you mean,” she said softly, “a debt that’s more than monetary?”

“More than what?”

“More than money. Something other than money.”

“No. It’s money. I think. Just a lot of money.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” she prompted, “how did you and your sister accrue this debt?”

Ren reassessed the questioning and decided it was still innoculous. And he knew if he didn’t talk to her, he’d just be sitting here for who knows how long. Her entertainment is mine, I suppose. “The Don gave me my arm and legs.” He knocked his fist on his calf twice, reporting a dull metallic clank.

“I see.” She considered this. “How did you lose your arm and legs?”

Ren grew uncomfortable. “It was an accident.”

“Would you tell me about it?”

“I was little. I don’t remember it.”

She placed her elbow on the arm of the wooden chair and rested her head on one hand. “Was your sister there when it happened?”

Ren’s guard went up again. He knew his sister was what she really wanted. “I don’t remember.” That was true, either way.

“How old were you then?”

“Mmm… six, I think.”

“But you don’t remember any of it.”

Ren shook his head.

“How old are you now?”

“15.”

She was silent for a moment, thinking. Ren wondered what his age had to do with anything. “Did you spend a long time without an arm and a leg?” she asked after a moment.

“A bit.”

“How long?”

Ren grew frustrated. “Why do you care?”

“Just asking,” she replied nonchalantly. Amicably. Fakely.

“Well fucking stop. How about I ask a question for once.”

She looked amused. “Ok. Go ahead.”

Ren hadn’t expected that. Had he more time to think of a question, maybe he would have chosen more carefully. As it was, there was one question on his mind. “What do you want with Mary?” he blurted out.

She considered him silently, the friendly aura subtly replaced with cold calculation, though Ren knew the warmth had never really been there. After a moment, though, her friendly mask seemed to fade back in. “How well do you know Mary?”

Ren laughed, as if to a joke. “What do you mean? She’s my sister.”

The woman didn’t respond. Her finger traced out a slow circle on the arm of the chair as she watched him. Fuck, Ren thought. She knows. Ren thought about different things he might say, but then decided now might be the time to shut up. The truth was he didn’t know a lot about Mary’s life before they had reunited 8 years ago. Actually, more to the point, he didn’t know anything about her life before 8 years ago. Maybe she really used to be a member of this terrorist group. Like, maybe she was young and crazy back then, or something. He chuckled.

“What is it?”

Ren steeled his face. “Nothing.” Either way, she was in danger now. That fact suddenly weighed as cold and heavy on him as the mass of concrete and earth above his head.

“Do you know who arranged for the Don to provide your arm and leg?”

“My sister.” I thought we covered this.

“Red-Wolf did?”

“Mary,” Ren corrected petulantly. “Just fucking Mary. She’s not Red-Wolf anything.”

“Of course. I do have to wonder, however—how did ‘Just Mary’ know Mr. Sunaki well enough to ask him a favor?”

This is fucking ridiculous. “I don’t know, why does anyone know anything? No, actually, I mean—that’s not a big deal, everyone asks the Don for things all the time.”

She seemed to relent on this, and thought again.

“Why don’t you just fucking ask what you want?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “I can, but I don’t think you’d answer me.”

“Maybe not, but this is getting dull,” Ren scowled. “Just fucking get it over with already.”

She stood up from the chair, sighing. Her friendly atmosphere dissipated completely, her expression turning to a cool, passive disdain. “I share your sentiment. I’ll get to the point. But first how about I explain your situation. You see, I am very rich. In fact I am more than wealthy enough to feed you for the rest of your life without much hardship on my part, and there certainly isn’t any benefit to me in letting you out of this cell. So from the moment you entered those four walls,” she said firmly, stepping right up to the glass door, “your entire being became mine. An investment. No, a toy, maybe. Something that you buy once, and maybe you’ll play with it a while, for years even, but maybe instead you’ll forget about it and it’ll sit in a chest, ever forgotten. But right now, you are new to me. So I want to know your value. Are you information, or are you bait?”

Ren swallowed. “…Bait?”

“Yes. Bait. If you’re not informative, you might as well sit in this cell and offer ‘Just Mary’ some incentive to visit me herself. But if she’s really been abducted as you told me earlier, well, who knows how long that could be. I imagine I really will leave you in this toy chest and slowly forget you exist. You’ll get food, of course—I can see to that without my ever having to think about it. But I do think it will get boring for you. I wonder if humans can die of boredom.”

Ren said nothing. All he felt was the cold pit in his stomach telling him that this was indeed exactly what she thought, and exactly what she would do. With no way out of this cell and her willing to question him with him still in it, he suddenly thought his situation might be a bit worse than simply being shot.

“Do you want to think about it for a while?”

Even if he thought about it, he knew where it would lead. “Tch. I guess I have no choice even if I do.” He turned around to face the back of the cell, laying down on his side. He felt tears come to his eyes. “What do you want to know?”

For a moment she didn’t speak, and then he heard the soft rustle of her dress and a creak that told him she had sat back down in the chair. A minute later, she began, “How much do you know about the Court of the Red Moon Matriarch?”

Ren shrugged. “Basically nothing.”

“That reminds me, I do wonder how you got your hands on those documents. Where did you get them?”

“A courthouse in Harrol district,” he muttered despondently.

“I see. And why did you think to look for them there?”

“I wasn’t looking for them. I wasn’t looking for anything. The Don sent me there…” he trailed off.

“What?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the Don didn’t send me.”

“What do you mean?”

Ren, still laying with his back to the glass wall, wrapped his arms about himself. He hadn’t had a chance to think about this particularly discrepancy yet. Something was definitely strange about it. “I got my orders at home like I normally do. They didn’t look different from normal. It said to do cleanout on the courthouse. But… “

“That was your conversation with the Don this morning. He didn’t know.”

Ren was silent.

“So someone else set you a task, posing as the Don. Someone who knew exactly how and where you received orders from the Don.”

Yep.

For a long while neither of them said anything.

“Where do you get your food, normally?” she asked suddenly.

The odd angle of the question confused him. “The Don sends us food. Or he did, anyway.”

“Ren. It’s Ren, right?” He stopped breathing for a moment, then turned around to face her. She was leaning forward in her chair, studying him with a furrowed brow. “Was Mary really abducted by someone?”

“…Yes…” he eyed her warily.

“Part of the reason you’re in this cell is because I couldn’t be sure if you were a part of the Court of the Red Moon Matriarch yourself. If you were, it would make you very dangerous. But you really don’t know anything about the Court, do you?”

“No,” he replied sardonically.

“And you’re out of work.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I wonder how that happened.”

“You shall work for me.”

Ren’s head reeled. “What? Why would I do that?”

“Firstly because you don’t have anything better to do. Perhaps more importantly, you don’t have much of a chance finding your sister on your own. It just so happens I’m looking for her too, so you might as well help me.”

Ren thought. “The way you’ve been looking for me is sending armed men after me. Why the fuck would I help you find my sister?”

The woman sat back in the chair and laced her fingers in front of her. “Before today I thought she was an active member of the Court, and yes, that would make her my enemy. But I’d be surprised if Sunaki had such a connection. He obviously had enough political sense and…” she waved vaguely, “whatever odd charisma about him that let him run a sizeable territory for several years, but let’s face it, he was an idiot. If Red-… Mary… has really been working for Sunaki the past—what, 7, 8 years? Then it would mean she might not actually be a part of the Court now, which is supported by your apparently complete and utter ignorance of the Court yourself. But as a former member, she’s even more valuable to us. As a friend. If what you tell me is both true and accurate, then she is no enemy of mine.”

Ren tried his hardest to read her. He had no idea whether he’d normally be able to—it was just as likely she was simply manipulating him now.

But then, he didn’t see any benefit in saying no.

“Shit. I guess. Fuck, sign me up for…team…crazy blonde?”

She nearly choked. “Theresa.” She shook her head. “My name is Theresa Elstar, and my soon-to-be husband is the Earl de’Amarlo, Earl Tobias Zachary Amarlo…” she narrowed her eyes at him. “Do these names mean anything to you?”

“Not really.”

She nodded and sighed. “Ok. You will address me as Lady Theresa, and my husband as ‘Earl’. Your new name is ‘Ren-under-Elstar’. I would give you the name ‘Ren-under-Amarlo’, but I imagine you would get yourself into trouble with that. I’ll go fetch the guard and let you out of here, and…once you’re cleaner… maybe you can give me some insight into the late Don’s affairs.”

Ren tugged at his collar uncomfortably. He was being escorted through the halls of the estate. ‘Free’ though he may have been, he was clearly not trusted to walk around on his own. Probably appropriate: had he the volition, he probably would have went back to see Martin and ask his opinion on what to do in this situation. He might still have ended up back here, but at least then he’d feel like he had something of a choice.

It was sometime in the afternoon and the lazy perpetual heat of the city seeped through the glass-paned windows in the form of slanted beams of light. Ren was not used to wearing such thick clothes—and black, no less. He was sweating. The guards’ uniforms had long sleeves, but they didn’t seem to mind it. “In here.” The guard said.

Ren said nothing as they stopped in front of a door. The soldier beckoned him inside and he opened it inwards. Ren was taken aback at the unexpected beehive of activity within.

“Fighting has broken out on the 400 block of Mait district.” A soldier read from a slip of paper.

“Who are the combatants?” the older gentleman to Ren’s left responded. He recognized the combed gray hair as the man who had come to capture him at the Courthouse yesterday. Lady Theresa was also present. She walked slowly around a large map table, her gloved hands clasped in front of her. She hadn’t noticed him come in.

“Local gangs is his best guess.”

“Let them fight it out.” The military leader responded. “Have we made contact with the Danouille granaries?”

“I’ll ask for an update.”

“The Brass-Balls have accepted,” a messenger reported. “We have northern Narick.”

“Lady Theresa, Senator Vannerdaim is on the phone.”

“Senator Vannerdaim?” she stopped walking, puzzled, then turned towards the latest speaker, a female in guard khakis but not the normal uniform. “Very well, I’ll talk to him.” Ren watched her go into the other room, where multiple people were talking on telephones.

“And who are you and what are you doing here? You…”

As Ren realized it was directed at him, he turned to the stern-faced leader, who obviously recognized him. “I… I just…I was asked…”

“You made plenty of work for me yesterday,” his annoyance clear in his tone. “Just sit there. I’ll figure you what you’re doing here later.”

“General, police have issued an evacuation order for western Mai.”

“Get them to rescind it. Use Theresa’s name.”

“Danouille granaries are in negotiation.”

“Good. Mark it.” An aide wiped something off of the map and drew another symbol on it. From his chair Ren couldn’t see what he had written.

“We have information that the brother Sam Sunaki lives in…”

The general cut him off with a shake of his head and a wave, “Send that to Emily, not me,” he chided. Just then Theresa strode back into the room, adjusting her thick crown of braids. “Any trouble, my lady?”

“No.”

“We’re in negotiations with the Danouille granaries.”

“Good.” Just then she noticed Ren sitting in the corner. “Come here, Ren.”

Ren stood up and tried his best to pull down his black doublet from around his neck to make it more comfortable. It didn’t help. He walked to the map and stared at it.

“Uncle Shad, This boy worked for Sunaki for most of the Don’s tenure. Let’s check our information.”

The general took a moment to process this and then nodded before launching into an explanation. “According to our information Sunaki controls Mai district, Curtstow district, Danouille district, Narick, and parts of Medel and Hemmerson. Does this sound right to you?”

“Uh…” Ren rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not sure he really owns any of Medel. He had a lot of trouble there. I think he just gave up after a while.” The general nodded. “I don’t know, what was a while ago. I thought he controlled Okhan and Weisen district too though…”

The general snorted. “He never owned Okhan. He just thought he did. Weisen is news to us though.” He beckoned to another soldier. “Contact the city police in Weisen and feel them out for the political landscape. Try to figure out what Sunaki’s connections were there. Now…what was your name?”

“Ren.”

“Ok, Ren, let’s talk about food depots… what did you do for the Don?” he stopped to ask.

“I...” he stole a glance at Theresa but she was occupied in another conversation. “I ran and got things for him.”

“A messenger then. Ok, did you ever visit any of his food depots?”

“Like, warehouses?” Ren asked.

“Yes, like warehouses. With food though.”

“Sometimes, sure.”

“Great. We need to know which ones are free and which are his guarded stock.”

“…What?”

“His depots. They were robbed all the time, right?”

Ren furrowed his brow. “Yeah.” That was normal in Mariah city.

“Right. Which ones were robbed and which ones were left alone? We need to figure that out so we know where the locals expect to get their food. See all the little green circles on the map? Those are the depots we know about. If you can tell which ones were the free depots, it’d help us out.”

“Uh…” Ren stared at the map, but couldn’t make any sense of it.

“What’s the matter?”

Ren focused. “Ok, so… where are we now?”

The general narrowed his eyes. After a moment he pointed out an area in the Okhan district. Ren stared at that location and then the things around it on the map for a good minute.

“You can’t read maps, can you?”

Ren felt his face flush.

“Ok. Maybe you can tell us this…”

“General, the fighting in Mai is getting bad. We’re seeing explosive weapons.”

“I thought this was local gangs.”

“We’re now sure it’s local gangs, sir. Fighting is between the Too-Tacks and the Eagles.”

Ren knew them. They were the largest gangs near his and Mary’s building. The Too-Tacks generally controlled things for the Don around most of Mai district. The Eagles…they were just violent. Ren stayed clear of the Eagles.

“Are these major gangs in the area?” Lady Theresa suddenly asked.

“Yes,” the soldier replied.

“Wait and see who wins, and then have our operative kill their leader. Mai is next door; we can control it ourselves.”

“Maybe that evacuation order should have gone through,” muttered the General.

“There was a call for evacuation?” Theresa asked.

“There was. I had them rescind it.”

“I’ll use Senator Cauls to push it through.” She stalked off towards the telephone room again.

“Ren.” Ren looked up at the General. “If you had to say what Sunaki’s #1 most robbed food depots is, what would it be?”

Ren thought. “Probably the big one in Danouille district.”

“The granaries. Good. That’s what we thought. What about another one?”

“That’s robbed all the time?”

“Yes.”

“There’s one in Mai. By Sunny’s Market.”

“Where is that?”

“Across from the, uh…it’s off of crescent street, you know, the really low building with the shacks on top of it, like only 20-something stories high.”

The general shook his head and said to the aide with the short and sandy hair who had marked the map earlier, “Can we get someone in here who knows each of these districts AND can read a map? One of each would be fine. Relay it to whoever’s outside.”

“Senator Cauls will cover for us. The evacuations in Mai will proceed as originally planned.” Theresa said, reentering the room.

Martin probably lives in Mai, Ren thought.

The aide came back into the room followed by a stammering but pretty petite woman in a pencil skirt. “Lady Theresa, this is Don Sunaki’s secretary, she was summoned to see you?”

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for her. Come dear, follow me.” After taking one step towards the closed door on the opposite side from the telephone room she stopped and looked back at Ren. She addressed the general. “Is he useful to you?”

“Frustratingly, but yes. I can use him.”

She nodded and led the other frightened woman through the door, closing it behind them.





It took Theresa Elstar three days to have the former baron’s territories under control, and another two for a new normal to take hold in these parts of Mariah City, but Ren would know none of it. Ren was confined to the Amarlo estate.

No one said he was confined, but he clearly did not have permission to leave, either. After days of complaining of the outfit he had been provided—his old one was nowhere to be seen (he suspected it had been discarded)—the housekeeper had found him a new shirt. The style was much the same as the one he had complained about—a black doublet of heavy linen with brass buttons, though it sat looser on him and seemed to breathe easier. This one’s collar was also stiff, but could at least be left open at the neck. He had gotten somewhat used to wearing pants instead of shorts—they usefully hid the dent in his leg, too. Despite how well-dressed Ren was, he still got disgusted looks by the estate staff. He had no idea why, but he didn’t care, either.

Today was his 7th day in the Amarlo estate, and he plodded to the kitchen with a storm-cloud glare. There was a slow, lethargic patter of rain against the windows, and though he couldn’t feel it inside he knew the uncomfortable humidity of the city outside. Even that, however, would be welcome. The sickly warm rain of the city was still of the city—his city. He’d probably sit on the roof after breakfast. There wasn’t much else to do.

He pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen area hard enough for it to thump the wall behind it. The assistant cook—her name was Sarah—or was it Sheila?—looked over her shoulder and then kept chopping, ignoring Ren as he moved to the larder. He opened the pantry doors and found a sausage log. He scouted a piece of hard baguette on the counter, and then plopped both down onto the small staff table on the far end of the kitchen. He sat in the chair sideways with his back against the wall and his right mechanical knee up on the second chair. Sarah—it was Sarah, after all—paid him no mind as he bit off the tough sausage and bread, glowering at the kitchen around him. After a moment Simon came in the door near Ren’s table, tying an apron about his green pinstripe shirt. Simon, a tall man with a trim fade of his blond hair down the sides of his head, was apparently the head cook for the estate. He was on the young side of middle-aged—in fact he and Sarah could be the same age, though her perpetual haggard look aged her. Without saying anything Simon grabbed a plate from one of the cupboards and put it near Ren with an admonishing look. Ren bit off some bread and put the remaining stick on the plate—it was there, after all.

“Any messages?” Simon asked Sarah.

“No. Just the usual.”

He nodded. “I’m thinking we should smoke some of that fish for dinner. Make some chickpea cakes to go with it. We’ll do sandwiches for lunch.”

Ren finished the last of his sausage and baguette and got up to leave. He paused, considering, and then grabbed the plate, took it to the sink and washed it, scrubbing it passingly with his fingers. It was the first time he had ever washed a plate, but he didn’t feel like listening to Simon gripe. Not like I got anything better to do today anyway. He left the wet plate by the sink and exited the kitchen without looking at Simon.

The city was every bit as thick and damp as Ren knew it would be. He sat on the edge of the roof—there were only 14 levels to the estate, so it felt like it sat in the lowest level of the city. Direct sunlight only occurred near midday and otherwise in fits and bursts in very specific locations. Ren’s shoulders and hair were already soggy—it was a sparse but thick rain with a dirty taste to it. But Ren was more comfortable in this rain than in the estate with its carved furniture and glass windows.

He wondered again whether Theresa was actually looking for Mary. She hadn’t said a thing about it since his interrogating a week ago. If he didn’t know her efficiency, he’d have thought she had forgotten. Still, nothing was happening and it grated on him. What was she doing? Maybe more importantly, what wasn’t she doing and why wasn’t she doing it? Mary had been missing for 10 days now. Where was she and what was she doing? If she’s even still alive.

The door to the rooftop greenhouse opened. “Yeah, he’s up here!” A soldier covered his eyes from the rain and walked closer until he was enough to not shout. “Lady Theresa wants to see you.”

Ren grimaced and got up. He followed the soldier back into the building. As they reached the concrete stairs inside the cover of the earth-smelling greenhouse, the soldier said. “She’s in the library.” He fished a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. Ren continued down the stairs.

His summons wasn’t unusual either. He’d not had one yesterday, but he did the day before. That time was used to extract a history of assignments he had done for the Don, which had gone on for hours. It wasn’t Theresa who had conducted it, either—she had left as soon as it began—but some scribe character. Political research, he called it. Ren didn’t feel like doing some boring shit inside. No. you’re going to fucking give me some answers this time. Resolute, he opened the door to the guest library.

Theresa was sitting in an armchair drinking tea as she held a book on her crossed knee with one hand. She was wearing a green dress today and had her golden hair pinned loosely at the back, hanging in large elegant loops. As Ren came in she placed a marker in the book before closing it and setting it on the endtable. Ren prepared himself to rebut whatever she wanted from him today. He would know what was happening with Mary if he had to force it out of her.

She looked at him and frowned. “You’re wet.”

He looked down briefly. “Yeah,” he said tersely.

She decided to ignore it. “I would like you to run an errand for me.”

Ren’s opened his mouth for his planned rebuttal, but then shut it.

Having no response from him, she continued. “I need you to deliver a message to ‘Showty’ for me.”

“…Who’s that?”

“The current leader of the Too-Tacks. They’re a major group in Mai. Since you lived in Mai, I’m sure you’re able to handle it.”

Ren thought. No. Not going to do your stupid city-domination crap. Not today. Fuck you. He didn’t say it. If she was going to let him out of the estate, that seemed just fine, too. “Ok,” he said nonchalantly.

She took a letter out of a leather document case on the other side of the armchair and handed it to him. He took it, but caught her eyes on his. She was intent on his face—stern, studying. The cold calculating killer he had come to known over the course of the past week. He cowed under her discerning gaze, but she said nothing. After a moment—it had probably lasted shorter than it had felt—she broke eye contact and retrieved her book from the table and opened it to the bookmark.

Ren turned and left, a little more humbly than he had come in.

He took the elevator down to level 6 and walked to the southern bridge with a rising sense of exhilaration, though with a slight worry that the guards would stop him still. As he approached the bridge, though, one of the friendlier guards grinned at him. “Finally getting out this time, huh Ren?”

Ren grinned just as big back. “You bet your ass I am.”

He jogged up to the doors, pushed them both open in front of him, and began sprinting, his footsteps ringing against the steel bridge. The guard called after him, “See you later!”

Ren didn’t respond. He ran with abandon through the shanty town on the neighboring building of level 6, leaped up a flight of stairs and soon ran up an inclined bridge to level 8. He spied a downward cable and leaped up onto it, sliding with his mechanical hand into the next block. He came in too fast and lost his footing on the rain-slick concrete, tumbling into a stocky man amidst startled shouts from nearby passers-by. Paying no heed, he laughed and sped through the streets of Okhan towards Mai district.






At the center of Mai district, by Sunny’s Market, Ren stopped running and took stock of the situation as he wound down. Where to? He checked the paper envelope tucked into his shirt and sighed, settling on finding the Too-Tacks first. Whatever he did after, he might as well deliver the letter.

After some asking around he found the Too-Tacks’ base to be a shorter building—it only went up to level 20 or so, but one that took up an entire block. Ren noticed one corner of the building had been recently blasted into rubble—the actual rubble was stacked in a neat pile against the side of the building though, now. He was guided inside by clansman with a mohawk, and marveled as they came to the interior courtyard—much of the space taken by the structure’s outer bulk was merely enclosing the large open space they had stepped into, with the building wrapped around it. Most of the levels were open, like most other buildings in the city, and he saw people sitting on the edges of the levels here and there.

“This is the kid that wanted to see me?”

“Yeah boss. Says he has a message. Actually got one, too, or I wouldna let him in.”

The ‘boss’ was a mid-height thin man with the face and voice of an experienced chain-smoker, yet still must have been in his 30’s. His gaunt grizzled face was set against long dirty brown hair and he looked down at Ren with open mouth, nodding as if appraising a vase. “Didn’t have to have nothin on him with these rags,” he picked at Ren’s doublet. He chuckled. “Some kinda rich boy aintcha,” His voice was a bit deep, but with all the quality of a stone wheel on a rusty ramp.

Ren threw up his hands, shrugging casually. “Just a pet, I think.”

The boss laughed loudly, rocking back. The sound filled the courtyard. “Yeah. Ok. Well you got a message for me, huh?”

Ren fished the letter out of his doublet and handed it to him. He took it and tore it open, letting the envelope fall to the ground as he opened the letter. It was a single sheet, and he read it slowly. Ren looked around as he did so, the courtyard silent. The rain had all but stopped by now. The city after the rain wasn’t dusty, but the thickness of the air remained. The thickness never went away—just changed character with the weather.

‘Showty’ read the letter slowly, and Ren saw his eyes return to the top of the page and begin reading it again, his hand over mouth in thought. “Huh. Ok.” There was another long silence as Showty read it a third time. Then he dropped it to his side and looked away.

“What’s it say, boss?” the one who guided in Ren said.

Showty shook his head sideways as if to consider what to say. “Well, for one thing, says she’s the one who took care of the Eagles for good.”

“The hell? That was us, right?”

“Ehhh…there was definitely more players in that fight. I don’t know who killed old Gaffer—that sure wasn’t us. Anyway, sounds she wants us to take over for what Red’s crew used to do.”

“You mean distribution? Like, community and shit?”

“Yeah. This chick’s tellin us what warehouses her’s and which ones are free. I mean, it’s the same as it always was, but…” he considered, nodding his head sideways some more. “I don’t know, I guess that could be our game. Maybe shit’s gotta change anyway, now that I’m in charge.” Showty shook his head, seemingly indecisive. After a moment he seemed to re-realize Ren’s presence and looked at him, glanced down again at his black clothes and brass buttons—with some dirt smudges now—and gave a short, terse sigh. “Alright. Well. Message received. Get out of here, kid.”

As Ren walked into the dim lower level of the building to leave he heard Showty chuckle, “Just a pet. That’s a good one.”





Ren climbed up to the 30th level of his and Mary’s old building. Though he hadn’t seen the red soldiers around, he wondered whether he was still wanted as a terrorist. Either way anyone who had been watching his place probably had decided he wasn’t coming back. He opened the rusty door into the room. It was dusty and disheveled, and had been picked clean by scavengers. There was some machine oil on top of the battered dresser, and a stained piece of steel they used to cook on. There were a few garments left, but only the very ragged and holey ones. Even the sleeping mats were gone. There was no trace of Mary. The room looked as deserted as it felt. Ren left.





He decided to try to find Martin. It was midafternoon by the time he arrived at Don Sunaki’s tower, and the sky had begun to drizzle again out of its brown-cast cover. The tower was mostly silent. Ren walked around to the garage and into the basement. He turned on the lights to the workshop space and found the space empty save for some flimsy plastic crates on the wooden counter filled with scrap parts. Martin was nowhere to be seen. This place had been deserted too.

He tried the elevator. Maybe someone’s left here doing paperwork or something. The elevator whirred as he rose to the top floor. The noise was out of place in an otherwise quiet building.

The door opened and he entered the reception area. There were no lights on—just some dim sunlight filtering in off of the smooth marble floors and off-white walls of the hallways.

Ren walked through and entered the Ninety-nine Lobby, the Don’s old throne room, and was startled—there were people. The bookish man who had been doing “political research” on him and the former Don’s secretary were going through filing cabinets and stacks of papers. They both turned at his entrance. They were as surprised as he was.

“You,” the scribe said, adjusting his glasses. “You must have a message from Lady Elstar?” He got up off the floor and scratched his mid-length gray beard.

“Uh… Yes. For her, actually.”

“…Me?” the woman stammered. She was almost as distressed as she had been when Ren saw her a week ago.

“Hm. Alright. Make it quick,” the scribe said and returned to the papers on the floor.

Ren went to a corner of the room and she followed him, visibly attempting an assertion of confidence that looked out of place on her.

“You know what happened to Martin?” Ren said.

“Martin? Who…what?” The brief composure was gone. “I don’t understand. What is your message? From Lady Theresa, right?”

“No. Look. There’s no message. I just want to find Martin. The biomechanic that used to work in the basement.”

“Oh.” She looked at the floor. “I don’t know. The more talented people were offered positions in other districts.”

God dammit. “Do you have any way to find out where he went?”

“Umm…” The look on her face said no before she even said it. “I’m sorry, I…I don’t have access to that information.”

Ren looked over at the man in the twill jacket. “Does he?”

All her nervousness returned. “Uh… I don’t know. I wouldn’t ask.”

Ren thought about it, but agreed. His presence here wouldn’t go unnoticed. Best to disappear as expected for now. He turned and exited through the glass doors, thinking of ways he could figure out where Martin had gone.

When he exited the side door near the garage there was a truck parked outside that hadn’t been there when he first came. He noticed the door into the basement was open and walked to it. Two guys were hauling a plastic crate up, but neither were Martin. Ren stood back as they exited. They eyed him, nodding in greeting, and deposited the crate of scrap into the back of the truck.

Ren didn’t know exactly who they were under, but… might as well take a shot. “I’m here to see the biomechanic,” Ren said approaching them as they wrung their hands. “I got a message for him from Lady Theresa. I see he’s already moved though—are you guys going to his new place?”

They looked at each other, then one nodded. “I don’t know what Lady Theresa you’re talking about, but yeah, we’re moving his stuff. Not a whole lot of room in the truck but there’s some. Why don’t you help us load these up and we’ll take you there.”






It was early evening by the time the truck, with Ren squished into the middle seat, arrived at what was apparently Martin’s new building in the Okhan district. Ren judged it to be 8 or 9 blocks winding northwest to reach the Amarlo estate. Martin’s shop was on the 11th level. When they had arrived Ren went up first to Level 20 to engage the freight elevator attached to the side of the building while the two men took a smoke break, and then Ren found what should have been Martin’s shop on the south side of the building, and knocked on the door.

“Yes. Hang on.” It was Martin’s voice. Ren smiled briefly and opened the door.

Martin spun. “Oh my god. Ren.” He took off his gloves and navigated around the iron workbenches of the room to Ren as he came in, and clasped him on the shoulders, then momentarily gaped at his dirt-smudged but unmistakeably fine clothing. For a moment he said nothing, his wispy eyebrows twitching beneath the edge of his bandana in confused silence. Then he nodded. “It’s good to see you. Come in.”

Martin’s new workshop was larger than the one beneath the Don’s tower, and had four large, extremely heavy-looking iron workbenches arranged in a rectangular pattern in the middle of the room, and there was a long counter on the back wall with a smoothed concrete slab top. Plastic crates were stacked against all of the walls, and all of the irregular shaped containers were littering the workbenches and counter.

“How do you like it?” Martin asked, showing it off.

“It’s nice.”

Martin pointed to a doorway in the side of the room. “It has an attached garage. Came with a 2-ton steel door. I’m going sponsored now—no longer direct—so I needed the security. I’m getting an exoskeleton frame tomorrow. I’ve never worked with exos before. I’m excited.”

“You seem to be doing well,” Ren said, vaguely puzzled.

“I am,” Martin said, suddenly more subdued, looking at his new shop with his hands on his hips. Ren couldn’t see his face, but Martin’s voice didn’t sound happy. “A lot of people didn’t come out well.”

“You mean, in the fighting in Mai?”

Martin glanced back at Ren, at his clothes again. “You weren’t there, were you?”

“No.”

“Good… Was Mary?”

“…I doubt it. I mean…she’s been missing since before it began.”

“That’s right… You did tell me that. I forgot.” He paused. “I see.” After a moment he exhaled and seemed to snap out of his funk. He turned back to Ren with a small smile. “So where have you been?”

“The Amarlo Estate.”

Martin nodded slowly with narrowed eyes, processing this. “Ok. You’re obviously not a war prisoner, so that’s good.” That’s arguable, Ren mentally rebutted. But then, he did get out today. “Is that home now?” Martin asked.

“What?”

“The Amarlo estate. Is that where you live now?”

“Fuck no!” Ren retorted. I just got out of that place. Why would I go back?

Martin shook his head in bewilderment. “How about you just explain to me everything that’s happened since I saw you last?”

“There’s nothing to tell. I’ve just been stuck inside, doing nothing,” Ren retorted loudly.

“Ok, but…”

“I don’t feel like it. That’s too much trouble.”

“Ok. …So what are you going to do now?” Ren didn’t have an answer to that. After a while, Martin cocked his head and crossed his arms. “I’m relieved to see you of course, but did you come here for a particular reason?” Ren didn’t have an answer to that either. “You’re just drifting,” Martin said finally. “Nothing strange about that. A lot of people are. After everything that happened.”

“I need to find my sister.”

Martin paused, unsure of what to say. Just then there was a knock on the thick steel door Ren had entered through. “Oh. I’m expecting a delivery. Excuse me for a moment.”





After Ren helped Martin move the plastic crates their final journey into the garage, Martin shared some of his food. The shop was combined with living space—Martin had three rooms in the inner structure of the building. He had set up a gas cookstove in one of them and used another as a bedroom. The third was littered with crates. They had eaten in a corner of the workshop, though, sitting on the floor, Ren’s back against the blue plastic crates lining the wall while Martin sat against a leg of a workbench. Outside, the sun had set while they were eating—not that it mattered a great deal to an interior shop on level 11. Eventually Martin had teased out most of the larger details of Ren’s circumstances with Theresa Elstar and the Amarlo estate. Ren had to explain that while he was in the Amarlo estate, he hadn’t once seen the Earl de’Amarlo—at least not since the night Mary disappeared.

“Something doesn’t make sense,” Martin said after a period of silence.

“A lot of shit doesn’t make sense.” Ren retorted.

“Well this in particular. You said Mary is a former member of the Court of the Red Moon Matriarch.”

“That’s just what I’ve been told.”

Martin acknowledged this with a nod. “The thing that doesn’t make sense is that the Court of the Red Moon Matriarch didn’t exist until a few years ago.”

Ren frowned. “What?”

“It was a few years ago. Let’s see, actually… four years ago. Four years ago there was some kind of weird disturbance in politics. I never really understood what took place—it was rather vague—but that was when the Court of the Red Moon Matriarch appeared. Nobody had ever heard of it before then.”

Ren tried to process this and shook his head. “That’s impossible.”

“No, it doesn’t make sense. I mean, I knew Mary before that…thing…happened. I knew her during it. I can’t say I noticed any change in her. So… either she was never a member of the Court of the Red Moon Matriarch, or…” he paused, considered. “Everything I’ve ever heard about it—just rumors, keep in mind—suggests it was created four years ago. When you put enough rumors together and they end up agreeing on something, it’s usually the truth. But…if it’s not the truth, and the Court really did exist before whatever happened four years ago, then that means the Court was way more secret than anyone thought. Really, Ren, I say this without any exaggeration—it didn’t exist before. Actually most people that talk about it these days don’t really believe it exists, either. A lot of people who follow politics more than I do say it was a fabrication by the secular elite to have an excuse to weaken the Church’s influence. Honestly, I’m partial to that idea myself. It seems more plausible anyway. Even if you say Mary was a former member of this supposed terrorist group, I just… it doesn’t make sense. Maybe someone just picked her at random and decided to make her one of the members of this imaginary group, and it was just bad luck. You know? But…”

“The guy who took her wasn’t from the city government.”

“Could he have been from the national government?”

Ren looked up at Martin. “The what government?”

“The country’s government. Like,” Martin explained, gesturing with his hands, “the government that manages all the city and regional governments.”

“There’s a government like that?” Ren frowned skeptically.

Martin shrugged with his head. “There is. I don’t know how much they actually function. I mean most of our government is a pre-war institution anyway.”

“Pre-war?”

“Yeah, before the war. The world was a really different place then. The way I understand it, the government had complete control back then—you didn’t have this system of shared power between barons and gangs and nobility—it was all just the government.”

“When the fuck was that?” Ren was entirely dubious. Governments were weak powers. The idea that there could be one single power controlling the city—all the districts, all at once—slightly frightened him.

“Oh I don’t know. 100 years ago, maybe. It’s not like any of us can study history anymore. I’m sure it’s written down somewhere, but I haven’t read anything about it. Only powerful people have access to books, anyway. And I don’t quite qualify as a powerful person.” Martin took a drink out of his glass—it was water, straight from a pipe in his building no less. Martin may not be powerful, but he was better off than most people in the city.

“Why do you know it at all, then?”

He shrugged it off. “People still know things. Even without books people talk to each other. Tell stories. A lot of people know about the war. A lot of people have opinions and theories about the war. Most of them aren’t all that informed, but I tend to make friends with smart people. They’re rare, but there are people that both really know things and are happy to talk about them. I’m happy to listen; I like learning things. So it’s just what I talk about with some people—knowledge.”

“What was so special about this war that people remember it after 100 years?”

Martin parsed the question carefully. “The size, I suppose. I know we’re used to talking about wars as territory struggles, but that’s not what the word really means. War means…maybe it’s the same type of thing, but just a lot bigger. Bigger than the city. Bigger than a thousand cities. The war I’m talking about was fought across the whole world. That’s why people remember it after 100 years.” Ren felt a chill in his bones. Ren didn’t know how big the world was, but a war the size of the city would be insane. A war the size of the world… Ren couldn’t even imagine it. For a while neither of them spoke. “But back to the topic at hand,” Martin said after a while, “Yes, there is a national government. By that I mean a government that at least used to control all the local governments—it clearly doesn’t anymore, but it still exists, and if we’re talking about a terrorist organization, then maybe whatever happened four years ago goes all the way to the top. So even if the guy you met—White Wolf—wasn’t part of any city government, maybe he could still be part of the national government.”

Ren thought about it, but there wasn’t much to think about. The bottom line is, he thought, I don’t know a goddamn holy thing. Ren knew plenty about his city, but nothing outside it. And he was beginning more and more to realize how little he knew about the world.

“I need to go back.”

Martin frowned. “Back where?”

Ren sighed. “To the estate. I don’t know what the fuck Lady Theresa knows, but she sure as hell knows more than me. I just hope she’s actually looking for Mary still.”

“Are you sure she’s not Mary’s enemy?”

“No… But I don’t have any better ideas.” And it doesn’t seem like I could help find her anyway. Either Theresa knows where Mary is already, or she will, or she won’t. And either way it’ll be with or without my help. Nothing to lose, I guess.

Martin nodded. “How are your legs holding up?”

“Fine now. They feel a little lighter than before, but sturdy.”

“It’s a bit better alloy. Well. You know where to find me. I’m sponsored by the Amarlo family now, so if you continue working for the Elstars, I think it could be arranged to still be your mechanic.

Ren hadn’t even thought about it. “Oh. Good,” he replied absently, covering his ignorance.

Martin smiled. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten from you.”

As she stepped through the door to her chambers, Theresa pulled the pins holding up her hair and let it fall loose. Despite the late Don’s territories finally settling into pace with her plans, she had been feeling restless. It had taken much longer than she had boasted to Tobias. She had underestimated baronhood. Her father made it look easy. Then again, her father only owned two districts in the outlying suburbs. She had come a long way in a few days.

She walked over to the phone in the corner, picked up the receiver and pressed two numbers.

“Simon, would you bring some tea to my room?”

“Of course, my lady.”

She replaced the receiver and sighed, massaging her temples. She then heard a tap on her window. The curtains were drawn, but after a moment she knew it must be the boy had finally returned. And wasn’t coming inside it seemed. She twisted her mouth in annoyance. Her day wasn’t over it seemed. She thought about pinning her hair back up again. Why bother, she thought. The kid’s probably never used a comb in his life. But that wouldn’t do. Appearance was a necessary component of authority. Still, she took a minute to find a coronet instead.

After making sure she was presentable, she walked over to the curtain and drew them aside. The boy was nestled in the same window he had spoken to her from the night he had stolen Tobias’ brooch. He didn’t seem to notice her—he must have been sitting there a while, occasionally throwing things at her window. She unclasped the latch and opened the windows, startling him upright.

“Did you deliver the letter?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied. He was glaring at her cautiously.

“And what was his response?”

The boy looked away. “He didn’t give one.”

“I’m asking you what your impression of his response is. How did he react?”

The boy looked at her, obviously with some thought hidden behind his wary gaze. “He seemed like he was considering it.”

At least it’s good news. Mai’s last issue would likely work itself out now—even if the Too-Tacks ignored her, some other group would eventually act on the information and fill the role of economic middleman. “Good. Now why are you outside my window instead of addressing me civilly—indoors?”

He frowned at her defiantly, but was dumbly silent for a moment. She was purposely keeping him off balance. “I’m not going back in there until you tell me what you know about Mary,” he asserted after gaining his bearings.

That was more or less what she expected. Problem was, she knew essentially nothing—there had not been a peep about Red-Wolf or the Court from any of her sources. “If you think my affairs are something that can be talked about in the open air, you would be wrong. This is not the time or place.”

“I don’t fucking care about your time or place,” the boy gestured wildly. “You said you were looking for my sister but all you’ve been doing is playing dominate the city.”

“And you think I’m not capable of both?” he hesitated, and she continued. “I have people all over the city listening for activity. The first lead that appears, I will know about it.”

This visibly angered the boy. “How is that supposed to do anything? You obviously know something about the Court of the…”

“Ren!” she interjected sternly. He stopped. “I was serious when I said my affairs are not for out of doors. If you would like to talk about it, then you will come inside. I am willing to share with you what I know, but I will not have you shouting it from my doorstep.”

He glared at her. She glared back.

He needs to be able to run, she realized. “I will make sure you are able to leave should you desire it. You have my word. For now, I would like you to come and speak to me inside.”

He considered it. “Fine.”

She nodded, closed the window and drew the curtains over them again, then sighed. This boy would be a disaster if she didn’t get him under control. But first… Laurel should be here any minute. Theresa walked to the chaise and reclined with a deep breath. A moment later there was a quiet knock at her door. “Come in.”

A lithe woman in a dusty dark brown abaya glided into the room, shutting the door softly behind her. Theresa did not rise. The woman came to stand in front of the chaise.

“He told me he delivered the letter.”

“He did,” Laurel replied. “I couldn’t get into the Too-Tack’s building, so I don’t know who he met.”
“That’s fine. Where else did he go today?”

“He delivered the letter first. Afterwards he visited an abandoned apartment in Mai, then went to Sunaki tower. At the top floor he spoke with the Don’s secretary. Afterwards he traveled to this district to meet a biomechanic who has recently moved into the 710 block here in Okhan. After a couple hours, he left and came here. He’s been waiting at your window for the last 45 minutes.”

Theresa nodded. “No suspicions?”

“No.”

“Was anyone else watching him?”

“Not that I could see.”

There was another knock at the door. Theresa frowned. That was too quick—this was the 9th floor, and the building Ren had to climb down surely had no elevator. Laurel caught Theresa’s tension and moved to position herself behind the entry. Theresa got up, briefly checked herself in the mirror, and went to open the door.

Simon gave a small bow. “I’ve brought your tea, my lady.”

She sighed. She had forgotten about the tea. “Thank you,” she said with gracious smile.

Simon smiled back. “Is there anything else I can get for you tonight?” He asked as she took the tray and set it on the square end table beside the door.

“No, thank you. Wait. Do you know if Lieutenant Siever’s command has eaten yet?”

Simon blinked. “I don’t cook for them—a woman named Madison handles meals for the security teams, and we’ve set up your forces with them for their meals. Their evening meals are at seven typically, so likely yes, I expect they’ve eaten already.”

“Then pass along to Madison that I would like her to prepare a light meal for one and some honeyed milk for Lieutenant Sievers in the barracks cafeteria. They’ll be expected about twenty minutes from now.”

“I will do that. Have a good night, my lady.” Simon turned and strode back down the hall. Theresa noted Ren approaching. The boy was quick anyway. As Simon nodded to Ren in passing, Theresa surreptitiously glanced behind the door. Laurel had vanished. Leaving the door open, she took the tray to the chaise and sat back down. Ren came in momentarily and stood a few paces distant. He still had his glare.

She sipped her tea. It was hot, but the flavor was excellent. Simon was really something special. She passingly wondered whether it was Tobias or Amarlo senior who had initially hired him. “Would you close the door?” she requested. Ren looked back at the door and then went to close it. He returned to his previous position, standing. She almost told him to sit, and then noticed how dirty his black clothes had become. That’s one day, she told herself with an internal grimace. He can stand.

“Well?” he asked.

She set her cup on its saucer and studied his face. “The Earl and I have many very talented people looking for your sister right now. None of them have found anything yet.”

He stared at her intensely, obviously deciding if he believed her. It actually was the truth, whether he believed it or not.

“I don’t believe you,” he decided.

Straightforward, she thought. “I suppose you don’t have to. Let me ask you: if you left my service now, what would your first idea be on how to find Mary?”

He held himself with tensed shoulders and tight lips. She knew she had cornered him. But then he started really thinking about it. When he turned his gaze aside, she picked up her cup again and sipped while waiting.

“I’d find out about the Court of the Red Moon Matriarch,” he said finally.

She nodded. “And how would you do that?”

He looked back at her, his face still an expression of anger, but she had come to know that face as merely unspecified rebellious intensity that seemed to be a norm for him. “I’d ask people.”

“What people?”

“People who know things.”

She blinked to keep from rolling her eyes. “And what people do you think know about the Court? I mean, really, where would you even start?”

His glanced shifted to the floor, subdued. “My mechanic. He knows people who know things. I’d ask him to introduce me to them.”

Well now that was interesting. She made a mental note to have someone investigate who Ren’s mechanic was. “And what would you ask them first?”

He answered with careful thought. “What happened four years ago.”

She put down her cup and studied the boy. This had turned completely outside her expectations. Yes, indeed—what happened four years ago was the crux of the issue, and her family had been in the thick of it. But very few people outside the political class knew of it. The fact that a street urchin had just casually mentioned it told her something. She wasn’t sure what, yet. “What do you know about it?” she asked casually.

“Like, nothing. That’s why I’d ask people,” he replied sardonically.

She nodded. No need to press your own socks, Resa, she told herself in her father’s voice. Still, the kid was much more canny than she would have thought. “Sit down,” she said, indicating the padded armchair to her left. “I’ll try to explain what happened four years ago.”

He frowned in a mixture of puzzlement, surprise, and distrust, but went to the armchair and sat down.

“How much do you know about the Senate?”

“What’s that?”

“The Senate is how the government makes its decisions. Lots of people make decisions together.”

“I don’t get it.”

“A question is asked in the Senate. The answer to that question will change what the government does or how it does it. When it’s time to answer the question, every Senator says yes, or no. If more senators say yes than no, the government changes the way it does something. If more senators say no than say yes, then nothing happens.”

Ren considered this. “How many Senators are there?”

“It varies. Right now there’s about 300.” She ignored Ren’s surprise. “But that’s not important. What’s important is it’s difficult to fool. But someone fooled it. The Court of the Red Moon Matriarch is a very powerful…political organization, let’s say for now. They had a lot of influence in our government. No,” Theresa sighed. No need to be polite about it. “They controlled the government. They were the government.”

“The city government or the… national government?” Ren asked.

“Both. I don’t know how they did it—my father, Senator Elstar, wasn’t controlled by them. At least not directly. We didn’t know they existed 6 years ago. Only the most powerful members of the Senate knew about the Court—one was a Senator my father favors.”

“So…the leaders of the government were actually a part of the Court?”

“No. The Court had very few people who were in the Senate—there was one very high ranking Senator that we know of, but otherwise mostly some lower level Senators. Most people controlled by the Court were coerced.”

Theresa fell silent for a moment. Then Ren asked, “so what happened four years ago?”

“We rebelled. Six years ago word started getting out about the Court—our peers say someone at the top finally decided they’d had enough, and told a few other Senators in confidence, and slowly more and more people were learning of the Court’s existence. When my father first learned of it, he didn’t believe it. But people began mysteriously disappearing, and all of the sudden everyone in the Senate was taking this phantom society more seriously. Eventually the Senate learned enough about the Court that we armed ourselves, and finally launched an offensive.”

“Like, on their center?”

“No,” she shook her head with minor exasperation, “It’s not a street gang like what I sent you to today. If it was a building, it would have been simpler. It was people. We had to…remove people. Before the dust settled we instituted checks, and rooted out every bit of influence the Court had in our government. This was not just in the city government—this was a coordinated attack happening across the country. Two different cities claimed they killed the Court’s leader. I doubt either actually did. We thought we were strong enough. We thought we knew enough.” Theresa thumbed the handle of her teacup contemplatively. “We were wrong.”

“Is the government still controlled by them?”

“No. Of that I am certain. In this, at least, we were thorough.” Her voice was firm, commanding. “The government is now the way it always should have been. The way it was designed.” She took a moment to look up at his face. He was staring at her intently, on guard.

“Sounds like a big fight,” he said flatly.

“It was. It still is. Just slower now.”

“If all of this is true, why doesn’t anyone else know about it?”

She stared back at him with equal intensity. She took a moment before answering. “We suppressed the information.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“So the government would not lose the faith of the people.” She didn’t tell him the other reason.

“’The faith of the people’?” His face showed skepticism.

Theresa shook her head. She occasionally needed the reminder that the political class sometimes had a poor relationship with reality. “I suppose you wouldn’t know.”

“Don’t fucking make fun of me,” Ren snapped.

“I wasn’t.” She looked into the last dregs of the tea in her cup. “I might as well have been making fun of myself,” she said—half to herself, and half to appease the dirt-covered irascible youth in her armchair.
Ren quieted, and sat back in his chair.

“And watch your language with me,” she said after a moment. She had almost let that one slip.

“Tch.” Ren turned his head away. Theresa reached over to the tea tray and poured herself another cup. She sipped, and decided to move the conversation to its conclusion. “10 chits per day.”

“…What?”

“I’m going to put you under the charge of one of my Lieutenants. You’ll have rooms here, meals, and regular pay. I’m told my starting pay is 10 chits per day.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Lieutenant Siever is in charge of special missions. His team is the one I send for…complicated problems.” She looked into his eyes. “The Court of the Red Moon Matriarch is a complicated problem.”

The boy furrowed his brow, but was clearly taking the offer seriously. “What would I be doing?”

“In general, whatever Lieutenant Siever asks you to do. You will no longer report to me, but follow his directions. In particular…whenever I find anything tangible on the Court’s location—or members, I will call on him. Thus, I’m sure you’ll be involved in any action against the Court.”

He looked at the floor in thought.

“One warning, though,” she continued. He looked up at her. “Should you accept, you will no longer be a free agent. If you leave without informing Lieutenant Siever of your intentions, then we will consider you an enemy.” She paused. I should soften the touch. “I won’t ask you to decide right away. Go down to the basement and talk to Lieutenant Siever. He’ll be in the cafeteria. A hot meal will be waiting for you.”

She closed her eyes and sipped her tea silently. After a moment she heard him get up and exit the room. He’s not entirely socially clueless, she thought.

He didn’t shut the door again, though. She lifted herself up off the chaise and went to shut the door, and then her shoulders losing the barest bit of tension, she took off her coronet and placed it on the dark wooden dresser before walking to the phone and dialing the Lieutenant to let him know the situation.