Rue Heights.

A mountain city in the southern range of the state, set over five thousand feet above the lush valleys nearby. Populated just enough to function independently, yet with a major tourist attraction being its Grand Olde Rodeo, a big number of people come and go everyday. Though it is now mid September and flash flood days are visiting just as often, the city still manages to gather some very precarious individuals.

Such are the thoughts of those who stop to take a gander at that man, passing by slowly, tacking his shiny, jet black oxfords on the paved road. About seven feet tall, he towered over most of the crowd, though most seemed more concerned about dodging his giant red scarf, covering most of his upper body and wagging its tail in the wind like a cape would. Those walking towards him had better be just as careful, as he was also sporting a very long cigarette holder, puffing with dark, thick smoke, like a mini chimney.

Some of the more crude residents would look at the tall man and try to hold in their laughter. It was about to become a very rainy evening, and he was certainly not equipped for the occasion: no umbrella in hand, a scarf big enough to weigh one down like a chain after becoming wet, and that opera sized cigarette holder would be turned off and stashed away under his black cardigan once rain begins to fall. Yet the man continued to walk slowly, crimson gloves in pockets and not a care in the world.

“Woah, watch it big guy!” a passing man growled, as he ducked right on time to avoid being slapped in the face by the red scarf’s end. The tall man didn’t say anything and kept walking away. “Hey, don’t ignore me! Take that ridiculous thing o--cough, kuh!” The man suddenly started coughing uncontrollably, cleared his throat to spit some sort of phlegm, then back to coughing. Two others went to help, one holding him and the other patting his back to seemingly counter the shortness of breath.

The tall man breathed in and took the cigarette holder in his hand. He let out a shaky laughter, revealing a set of shiny golden teeth in full display. “Heu heu, heu heu”, he wheezed, then whispered: “don’t tease them, Paston. Stay on the lookout.”

A voice replied, one that only the tall man could hear in his head:

Yes sir. That is order. Must go north. Slow. Can feel enemy. Enemy moving.

Clouds were clashing and darkening the sky, as a big storm was about to hit Rue Heights. The tall sir kept his pace unfazed, strolling through the buzzy district. That part of the city seemed to host a considerable amount of homeless folk, now getting busy and pulling up nylon covers on their makeshift residence to take shelter from the iminent downpour. A little girl was crying, but the others seemed to give her no heed, and kept passing the nylon around.

Stopping abruptly, the man turned his head. His gaze focused on the girl who cried. She was on her knees, using both hands to shake an older woman back and forth, one who was lying down in prone position. “Mommy, wake up! Wake uuup! I’m hungry!” She wept, tears running down her cheeks and snot dripping from her nose. “Why… why aren’t you waking up?”

The tall man once again took a deep breath and pulled the cigarette holder off his mouth, mumbling behind the scarf. “Go to the bakery shop on my left. Snatch the most tasty looking pastry and bring it to me.” The voice in his head replied:

Yes sir. Wonder why. But that is order. Must go now.

Not long after, a tall figure appeared before the little girl, causing her to let out a yelp upon being overshadowed by this visage. The tall man made a calming gesture with his hand and slowly crouched down. “Relax lass, can I take a look at your mom?” said the man with a deep, leathery voice. The girl stayed silent and slowly backed off, taking turns looking at her mother and at him.

He checked the woman’s pulse. Nothing. She was cold. He turned to the girl. “Your mom is tired so she won’t wake up for a while, okay? Let her rest for now. You must be hungry. Here, I got you something.” The crouched man pulled a big pretzel, coated with honey and sprinkled with a cinnamon-like condiment, from underneath his big red scarf.

Wrapped in a paper towel, he gave it to the girl and beamed a wide smile. He saw the girl hesitate at the sight of his golden teeth, so he exclaimed: “This pretzel is the best! Look, I ate one and my teeth look like they’re made of gold! Heu heu! Eat! It’s very yummy.”

“O-okay”, she responded, and reluctantly raised her hand to take the pastry. As soon as she took a bite, tears resumed flowing in her weary face. But they were tears of joy. The man pat her on the head and got back up. “Tastes great, right?”

She nodded repeatedly while gulping down chunks of honey. "Mmm! Thank you mister! I’ll keep some for mom, too!”

“Aren’t you a great daughter?” The man started puffing from the cigarette holder and thick smoke started levitating above. “You’ll be fine, lass. Cheers.”

He stood up and gave a small wave to the girl while walking away. The girl waved back enthusiastically and resumed eating.

Rain began falling. Pedestrians made themselves scarce as the streets became streams. Bizarrely enough, the man and his scarf were not getting any wet, and smoke came out of the cigarette holder as usual. The inner voice appeared again:

Sir? Wonder why. Woman dead. Daughter in danger. Wonder why.

“The surface is just as cruel sometimes, Paston. I know you haven’t come here for a while, but humans will be humans everywhere you go. What we do, we do for the sake of everyone's peace. The rain is not going to do anything to that girl. She is happy now...”

Yes sir. Always right. Saw what sir did. For best. Status report. Enemy smell stronger. Getting close. Must go north and west.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

The strong downpour continued, and the tall sir kept walking, unyielding, and dry. His black oxfords splashed on every step without ever staining his red cotler pants with rainwater, as he ventured deeper into the urban complex. Eventually, during a calm break from the rain, Paston's voice emerged:

Halt sir. Enemy here. Building five from left. Floor three. Window. Target. Alone.

Yanking the cigarette holder and blowing smoke under the scarf, he immediately put his back against the nearest wall and peeked towards the designated place. A strange, anthropomorphic figure dressed in dark blue was using one hand to cling on the brick wall below the window of a third floor apartment, while holding an extinguished oil lantern on the other.

Target inside. Alone with beep.

“Got you now, you scaly bastard”, the man cursed inside his head. He took a slow, big breath and whispered to Paston. “Looks like it’s located its target and is waiting for the best moment to go in. We should wait for that, too. Don’t want to cause a commotion. Since it wears a mask and I know you can’t use Diachorea yet, the plan is as follows: You distract it, I pull out its mask, we off the snake-eyed cunt and secure whoever it is the oculamp tracked down. Got that?”

Yes sir. That is order. Apologies for weakness. Will train better. Keep target alive?

”Correct. We don’t want anything to happen to its target. After all, we use the oculamp to find them before the piece of garbage Lezards like this one do.”

Yes sir. That is order, too. Always right.

And so they waited. To them, time felt outstretched. The adrenaline rush made moments look like hours. Paston occasionally threw a status report:

Alone with call.

Not long after and completely unaware of what’s happening, the silhouette of a young man came up to the window. He was staring into the distance.

Alone with thoughts.

The tall man grunted. "Yes Paston, thank you for the keen observation."

He checked the surroundings. No soul around, no cars running on the puddled street. The rain was about to catch on, which helped cover a lot of noise during an expected fight. As an added token of fortune, the young man staring on the window went back in. Luck was on their side. The shady figure bulked its hand up and lifted itself upwards, then stepped on the window’s molding and started to tamper with its lock.

Not alone.

“Go”, the man pitched, putting the cigarette holder and his crimson gloves underneath the red scarf, revealing a veiny pair of hands with gold painted fingernails. He dashed towards the building as a cloud of dark smoke whooshed towards the so called Lezard, blurring its vision and forcing it to jump down to ground level. It quickly got back up and clawed the air, forcing the cloud to dissipate.

Looking almost human, it wore a dark blue shirt and similarly colored leggins, though the parts that show skin revealed a dark and scaly complexion and long claws. Its face was covered with a navy blue mask, with two holes tightly applied so that its sharp, serpentine eyes can peep through, and a stylized leaf to decorate the middle of the visor. The Lezard still held tight to the oil lantern in its right hand; from up close, one could see an eyeball dancing around in the lantern’s glass casing.

Upon noticing the tall man quickly gaining ground towards it, the Lezard squealed and quickly jumped to the entrance of the building. A wild thought crossed the sir’s mind as he stopped for a brief moment. “What, it’s not running away? Is its target that important?” He clenched his shiny teeth and roared: “PASTON! Go straight up to the target and wait for me, it’s going after them no matter what!”

The smokescreen-forming entity known as Paston fumed right through the stairs directly up to the third floor, and swirled around looking for the door that logically lead to the apartment corresponding with the window they saw. Once Paston found the door, he focused on a spot and smoke started to take form into a paw, allowing him to ring the doorbell twice. The dark, thick vapor almost covered the whole door.

Both the Lezard and the tall man were skipping steps running up the stairs, racing maniacally towards the third floor. He caught up with the creature just at the corridor entrance, flinging forward and grabbing its scaly legs. The Lezard slammed head first on the floor with a loud bang and let out a growl. As the two started brawling, Paston rang again and scratched the door to no avail. But then, in a moment’s eureka, the smoky cloud swirled and got smaller, then started getting through the door from the keyhole.

The creature soon realized none of its blows would land, as the tall man seemed to slip past every kick, grab and scratch in an unusually slippery fashion. Growling, the Lezard decided to free its other hand by slinging the lantern to a nearby wall with a strong pitch. This caused the tall man to gasp, jump sideways and dive to catch the lantern before it would crash. “You cheeky twat," he shouted, "I’ll definitely kill you for this!”

Seeing this as an opportunity, the Lezard sprang up and dashed towards the door to the young man’s apartment, at which point Paston was already inside. The man grunted angrily while putting the lantern down, the eyeball inside bouncing like crazy.

Enraged, he kicked the floor and went in pursuit of that cheeky twat.