"Skytower City had always been a big enough place. Since it's founding, over three thousand years ago, it's done nothing but grow. Said to be built around the tower of some ancient mage, the city has flourished around the gigantuan structure long past the era of magic and sorcery. With ten million inhabitants, and more than five hundered miles of buildings stretched toward each horizon, it is easily the largest city in the world.

People could live out their entire lives without ever stepping foot outside of the city, and hundreds of thousands have. From it's finest district to it's most grimy slum, there was only one true law in this monstrous place: Trust no one, and shoot first. For while the city might indeed be prosperous, a majority of its wealth comes from business of a darker nature.

The drug trade is most present of all. From dawnweed to lionsdust, any and all hallucinagenics, pharmaceuticals, and back-street drugs could be found. Second to drugs is the slave trade. A third of Skytower's population were property. Used as gladiators, prostitutes, and servants, the fear of 'Hounds' kept these unfortunate souls from any thought of rebellion.

From there, the industry gains it's main bulk, with all other occupations derive from these two sources. Bodyguards and enforcers to protect. Hounds and slavers to find. Sellers and brokers to spread your trade. In the end, it all comes down to those two things. Sex, and drugs. Without them, this city wouldn't know what to do with itself. Hell...even now it doesn't."

_____________________

The old man sighs and leans back in his chair. His eyes are focused on the swirling mass in his mug, and hold a sorrowful acceptance in them.

"Listen, boy... I understand that you think you can make it out there, but let me tell you something," At this, he takes a slow swig of his Jull Ale, before lightly placing the mug on the table before him. "..if you try to play around out there, one day you'll end up dead. Either with a knife in your back, or a bullet in your noggin. Remember that."

I give a small nod, then lean forward, placing my elbows on the table and supporting my chin with my right palm. "I know that, you've known me well and long enough to see that. I've saved your ass once or twice, if I remember correctly."

"Aye, you have. That's why I'm telling you now, while you're still young. I mean, really now, look at the situation I've found myself in." He makes a small gesture with his free hands, lightly tugging on the razor wire used to hold him in place.

He was set down in a simple foldout chair, with his ankles, shins, right wrist, forearm, torso, and thighs bound in high-tensile wire. Called razor wire on the streets for convenience, it was able to cut to bone with only three pounds of pressure. At five, it could saw through a skull.

"Well, I suppose you're right..." I say, repeatedly flipping the safety of the gun held lightly in my left hand. I sigh and lay it on the edge of the table before me, out of the older man's reach. "I'm afraid we are almost out of time for pleasantries, Xavier."

Xavier, my ex-guild master and mentor, simply sighs and gulps down the remainder of his drink, then once again calmly returns the mug to its place on the table. "Aye, best not to dally with these sorts of things. May I ask a favor of you though?"

I give a slight nod, once more holding the pistol in my left hand. "So long as it's not to let you go." I squeeze the chamber of the gun, and pull it back, loading a cartridge.

"Take that fucking mask off for once. If you're going to kill me, at least let me see your face." He nods a little, indicating the mask I had worn for longer than I had known him. "Or at least tell me why you wear the damn thing."

I chuckle, and slide the gun into it's shoulder holster, then slowly reach for the mask's clasp behind my head. "For you, old man, I'll give a peek."

I unhook the latch and slowly pull the mask off, then slowly place it on the table between us. The image of a demonic peirrot, the sad clown, was spray-painted onto it. Its texture was smooth and the curves used to bolden the cheeks and eyesockets served to make the mask carry a dignified and cruel look over a typical goofy one. It's lips curved around pointed teetg and around the eyes were painted a dark purple, while the pointed nose protruded about two inches away from its base, painted blood-red and scruched slightly. With the thin-and-pitched eyebrows above it, the mask seemed to have a type of sinister sneer.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Pushing back my bangs with my fingers, I give my old friend a soft smile. "Satisfied?"

He takes a moment to scrutinize me, as this is the first time in our decade-long friendship that he has seen my face.  His somber expression gradually turns into one of amusement, and he genuinely laughs before speaking again. "Ha..hahahahaha! My, you certainly are a young one, aren't you? Well, take care not to end up like this old coot here, and make this quick."

I give another small nod as he closes his eyes and begins to take a deep breath. Pulling the same gun, which I had long since named Miserabe, I flicked back it's hammer with my thumb. "Last words?" I ask.

"Mm...aye. Retire quickly, and buy the good stuff, you'll regret you didn't in the end. Ah, and thanks for the ale." Xavier smiled then, the same way he always did when he thought he had said something clever. A fitting last look, I thought.

Pulling the trigger caused me a small knot of guilt, but my training and practice quickly stifled it down. I took a moment to appreciate the irony, as Xavier had taught me that trick. I gave a small bow to the corpse across from me, as he was thr one man that deserved this small act of submission. He didn't even realize he had died, with not even the slightest change in his smile as his head fell back. Blood splashed across our small table, and a bit even managed to spray onto the arm I had on it's edge. Half of my mask had a coating of the thick liquid, and as I slipped it back over my head I noticed a small stream of it running down Xavier's cheek, flowing from the bullet hole in the bridge of his nose.

"Sleep long and well old timer, you've earned it." Pulling a handkerchief from my jacket pocket as I stand, I begin to clean the gore from my mask and Miserabe. Looking myself over as I walk away, I sigh. Another three-thousand unit suit coated in blood. The black nano-silk had splotches all across the torso, and my red tie was half covered in the filth, leaving two distinct shades of maroon and crimson. Placing Miserabe in it's holster underneath my sportscoat, I calmly open the door and step out of Xavier's office.

Making sure to avoid the two corpses beside the door, as well as the pools of blood resulting from the bullet holes in their chests, I made my way out of the dingy building my past guild had used as a hideout. Whistling as I approached my hover-cycle, I opened the small mouth cover of my mask, then pulled a dawnweed box from my chest pocket and began chewing on one of the rolled-up leaves while humming. Climbing on and starting the cycle, I pulled a match from the same pocket and struck it, then dropped it on the beginning of a Organo-gas trail I had prepared earlier.

The calming, fuzzy symptoms of the dawnweed began to first creep into my system just as the lower stories burst into flames, I had thought the building materials in this more poverty stricken part of the city would be rather flammable. Seems I was right. The scent of burning flesh and building soon filled the air. By the time the fourth floor had become a blazing inferno, the edges of my vision had turned a slight yellow from the effects of the drug. I drove away when the foundation of the building began to crumble, and people started flooding the streets.

Part of me regretted the death of Xavier, we had never really been on bad turns. However, a job is a job. Now that it's over, I get on with my life, and more importantly... I get paid.