'If you could please follow me.'

Adorned by a black, ankle-length dress, a woman gestures for me to follow. Though a mask covers her face, for her to be revealed as anything other than breathtakingly beautiful is simply an impossibility. From the grace of her movements to the slenderness of her waist to the sweet fragrance that lingers around her, everything about the woman proclaims refinement. Her black, stiletto-heeled shoes tap lightly on the cobble-paved ground as she leads Olivia and me through the abandoned streets of Gandel City.

'You're the last to arrive. From the guest list, it should be a full house today. I have faith that you'll be able to find most anything that you're looking for.'

'I should hope so.' I say. 'I've waited quite some time for this event; I'd be most dissatisfied if I were to leave empty-handed.'

'Sir, I can assure you, that will not be the case.' Under the pale glow of moonlight, I walk side by side with Olivia, following the elegant woman towards the back of a large terraced building.

It's been two weeks since I arrived in Gandel city. Since coming here, my time could best be described. No, it could only be described as dull. Confined, as I have been, to Goat's apartment, until this night, I've had nothing to occupy my days, save for studying Father's writings.

Though I can move for six hours each day without being tracked, rumours of my arrival in Gandel city has proliferated this region. Outside the walls of Goat's tailor shop, it would only have been a matter of time before those rumours would have been substantiated.

'Are you at all familiar with the customs of our market?' The woman in black ceases her movements mere steps away from the metal door guarding the rear entrance of the colossal building. She turns around to face Olivia and me.

'Our sponsor has informed us of the rules.' Taking two steps forward, Olivia walks in front of me and directly faces the woman in black.

'Excellent, but it doesn't hurt to be cautious. There are four rules by which you must abide. The first, no names. Every customer is equal in the eyes of our founder. One's status in the outside world is of no consequence here. Furthermore, I imagine in coming here that discretion is not an insignificant consideration for you. The second rule is very much like the first. All payments must be made in coins or traded goods. It wouldn't do to permit the use of Clan or guild-honoured notes. I don't believe I need to explain the reason behind that precaution.' The woman turns towards the door; she knocks three times before returning her masked face towards us.

'As for the third rule, all agreements are binding, and all sales final. Once you have purchased a product from any of our vendors, the purchase cannot later be disputed. Finally, within the boundaries of our marketplace, violence is strictly prohibited. Our rules are enforced by our founder himself. To breach any one of them is cause for immediate expulsion from our organisation.' The clank of a bolt sliding from behind the metal door draws the woman's attention away from us.

She places her hand on the doorknob, turns and pulls open the door. Stepping to the side, the woman allows both Olivia and me to pass into the building; once inside, she closes the door behind us and refixes the bolt.

'Come, it's right up these stairs.' Retaking her place in front of me, the woman leads me up a staircase towards another metal door. She removes from her neck a key, places it into the lock, and pushes at the door. Before the door is fully open, the noise of chatter reaches my ears. With a final push, the heavy door swings fully open, revealing the bustling sight of commerce.

Masked men and masked women walk throughout the grand hall. Wearing differing varieties of tuxedos and dresses, one could be forgiven for assuming they're attending a society ball as opposed to an illegal marketplace. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling above, illuminating the foyer in a gentle glow. Stalls line the sides of the hall. The masked individuals behind them exchange few words with their patrons before handing them all manner of paraphernalia and welcoming new customers. The scene of money exchanging hands repeats itself again and again. Hands may shake, and heads may bow, but whatever formality is used to convey respect, the only constant is the exchange of coins.

'As this is your first time here, I'd be happy to accompany you for the duration of your stay.' Turning once more to face me, the woman in black bows.

'Your invitation permits you access to three of the levels in this establishment. On this level, you'll find an assortment of resources and ingredients profitable in the crafting of, well, just about anything. On the next level, you should expect more of the same. Furthermore, on that floor, information and knowledge can be exchanged for coins.

'Finally, the third floor is where we store our supply of undocumented labourers; each one is registered as deceased so far as Aspire is concerned, so in purchasing one, you won't have to worry about their contribution fees. While the least expensive of our human supply are mortal, we can guarantee that they have all been kept in excellent condition. Many of our more research-minded patrons find that they're incredibly useful in their experimentations. Of course, if you plan on doing anything particularly rigorous, it would be better to spend the extra money involved in purchasing a captive capable of harnessing Tension.'

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Labourers?

Captives?

Euphemisms can't hide the casual barbarity of her words; she's talking about slaves...

Using innocents for experimentation...

The heat spreading through my veins is chilled by a smothering cold before it has the chance to ignite, and reason reclaims my mind.

It's not my concern…

I will not interfere with the strong's natural right over the weak. How many have suffered by my hands?

How many more are yet to suffer?

In my pursuit of supremacy, I cannot concern myself with the tribulations of the weak. If those people long for freedom, then they should not have allowed themselves to become slaves in the first place. To hope, and pray, and cry out for salvation is an exercise in futility. If they have the strength to reclaim their freedom, they should do so; otherwise, beneath the boot of the mighty is where they belong…

Whatever is to become of them, what has it to do with me?

'Is there anything in particular that you're looking for?' The melodic tone of the woman's voice ushers me from my thoughts, leading me back to the matter at hand.

'I'm in need of a method for altering my appearance.'

'Temporarily or permanently.'

'Temporarily, but Ideally, the alteration would be long lasting.' At my words, the woman in black strokes her chin under her mask.

'I know just the man you're looking for. Please, allow me to escort you to the second floor.'

We navigate around the masses and head towards the end of the hall. Passing through a corridor, our attendant for the evening leads us up a further flight of stairs. Reaching the top, she guides us into a chamber much like the one we had just left.

With gentle sways of her hips, the woman in black takes us deeper into the space. She pauses near the centre, slides her head to the left and the right and then renews her strides. Following from behind, we head towards a market stall. Sat on the far side of the table we approach, a man. Mimicking the style of every vendor in the hall, the man wears a white tuxedo along with a red mask covering his face. As we move closer to the man, he stands from his seat and bows.

'If you've come to me, I can only assume that you're in need of a method of altering your appearance. You've come to the right place.' Waving his hand over his stall, the man showcases an assortment of potions, gems, and scrolls. 'Any one of these items will render you unrecognisable to your own mother.'

Lifting from the table a glass vial, I hold it up to the light and inspect the brownish liquid within. 'Will any of these allow me to choose my appearance?'

'I'm afraid not. Your transformation would be entirely random. I can, however, guarantee that you would maintain a human form. That's not a light boast for a shapeshifting potion. Believe me, when I say this, it took a lot of research and experimentation to ensure that result.'

Of that, I have no doubt…

'Do you know of any means for my master to take on the appearance of another?' Stepping forward, Olivia comes to my side. 'We're not looking for a means of customising an appearance, but rather mimicking someone else's.'

'That… That's possible, but unfortunately, it's not as easy as simply selling you a potion. It's not as cheap either.' Placing the potion of brown liquid back on the man's table, I look directly at him. Though both of our faces are covered by masks, I can feel his eyes borrowing into me, analysing me, determining whether I'm someone worthy of his time. Placing a hand into my satchel, I withdraw a sackcloth bag. I drop the pouch on the man's counter and unseal the top. Gold coins pour from the bag's opening, ringing out a soft chink as they land on the wooden table below.

'Sir, forgive me for my impertinence. I have been working on something that might be exactly what you're looking for. Unfortunately, my results have been... inconclusive at best.' Reaching under his counter, the man withdraws a notebook. 'My research is promising but incomplete. However, I believe that a man with your resources might be able to fill in the gaps in my work.'

The man hands me the notebook. Opening the pages, I quickly examine the runes and diagrams scrawled into the paper.

'Those notes represent three years of my hard work and research.' The man says. 'I believe I'm close to being able to create a potion that would allow one to appropriate the appearance of another.'

From the little I've seen, promising does appear to be an appropriate description of his work. Even still, this isn't what I had hoped for…

The woman in black touches my shoulder and positions her face to my ear. 'In terms of human transmogrification, this man is second to none. A scrap of his research on the topic, even when incomplete, is worth far more than the completed tomes of many renowned masters in the field.'

The man glances at me and then down on the open bag of gold. He shifts on his feet; I can practically hear his eagerness at closing a deal.

His work is impressive, and as a body-Tension Master, if anyone has a hope at completing his research, it would be me. The potential gains represented by the infiltration of a mid-tier Clan's stronghold is a strong incentive to take risks. Besides all of that, I have nothing to lose. If the man's work is indecipherable, it's not my coin that I'm gambling with…

There's nothing more to consider.

'Twenty Gold.'

'Sir, my research is beyond innovative. Outside of a Tower's reward, It's not possible to come close to what I've achieved in one-hundred lifetimes. I believe that's worth at least one gold coin per lifetime.'

I throw the notebook back on the table and begin to collect my coins.

'Wait, wait! Eighty Gold, that's as low as I'm willing to go.'

'Forty.' My tone calm, my hands steady. I let slip no indication that my need for his work greatly outweighs his need for my gold.

'Sir, be reasonable, please. We can shake hands on sixty-five gold, but not a coin less.' A smile breaks on my lips, behind my mask, there's no need to suppress it. It spreads from ear to ear until it dominates my face.

'We have a deal.'