Twenty minutes before a really reckless decision…
Somewhere in the infinite universe, there is a version of Nicholas Deshandrea who decides to take the day off and not follow on a tangential lead. He sits down at his house, eats a breakfast of pan seared steak cooked to perfection and fresh cut hash browns, and relaxes on his one day off for his cover job. He sips a steaming hot coffee with just the right amount of cream and sugar. He quietly looks over data on his magitech tablet that projects screens and graphs into the air, and he pores through the information, looking for patterns. A relatively boring, and routine day.
He’s ignored his own sound advice, and he is instead pulling up in a dark SUV to an office complex downtown, pondering about a series of thefts reported by the local garrison of the sorcerous armed forces, or SAF. Someone had been breaking into various medical offices and stealing records–physicals, blood work, everything under the sun.
He doesn’t know why it’s important, but he knows that during one of the thefts, a camera had caught a glimpse of a known Talons agent. It did not show the crime itself, only his quiet exit with a series of folders and two hard drives in a plastic bag.
The hell are they doing? Why are they stealing medical records? The offices he contacted all were extremely cagey about what records were seized. After a less than subtle persuasion that obstructing the investigation would not be looked well upon, one doctor office capitulated. The records were for a mage and Kin specific clinic, and all records on patients with draconic lineage were taken. It was puzzling, to put it mildly. Why would anyone want those records? Dragons are well studied–even after a mass Darwin award event that took a massive chunk out of the population. Whatever they are after, needs more context. I can’t believe I’m technically an endangered species. That is such a drag of a label. He hops out of the vehicle, and expects a quick check on this one suspect. If he’s lucky, this should be a relatively mundane affair.
On the off-chance it isn't, he's preemptively prepared.
He knocks on the front door of the two story office that is housed in downtown Opechea Falls, a red brick and mortar two story that looks like it needs more than just a little repair work. He knocks again, and he hears a click of a lock. A man in a black hoodie and jeans with a stubble of a beard and dark hair examines him suspiciously. “What do you want?” he says with hostility.
“Yes, good afternoon, I'm with the building inspector office,” Nick says after flashing his badge with the subtle glamor that allows him to persuade others with official looking credentials. “I had a report that this building had a sewage smell emanating from one of the neighboring buildings, and I was tasked to investigate the city connection points. May I come in?”
“Are you saying someone clogged a toilet?” He sneers, and holds the door mostly closed.
“I'm saying people were concerned about noxious odors, there are ordinances in place for commercial businesses to maintain functional facilities to avoid health hazards. This is a routine check-up to ensure the problem is not on our end, as the towns’ utilities are aging, and there is planned maintenance. Actually, there's a planned sewer shore-up next week on this street,” he says as he produces papers to that effect. It’s a classic method of his, no one wants to deal with raw sewage or be accused of neglecting waste removal services. The man squints and looks at the paper.
“We're not open for business,” he states forcibly. “Come back Monday.”
“I have town records showing your logistics company open officially until 5 PM today.” Time to apply the pressure, I want to see what Jimmy Cabresa is up to fishing for records, he thinks. “Look, uh, mister…”
“No name.”
“Okay, mister Noname,” he says with a beat of humor, and the man scowls, “It's one on a Friday, and this is my second to last stop for the day, I have a possible water main crack down on Sixth Street. I want to get home to my girl and…well, celebrate with her.” The man raises an eyebrow. “Look, I'm trying to save you from a big heap of trouble, if you're worried about your management. Failure to comply is going to earn citations per the town hall for violating ordinances if found to be attempted concealment of defective or under maintained utilities, after the fact. This can result in sanctions, fines, or even revocation of your business license. These aren't my rules, they're the town's.”
Nick plays a better poker face when he's in this role, unlike when he's losing twenty bucks during once a month Friday night poker with Levine, his friend and counterpart in SAF. Nick has filled a unique role in the organization as a specialist investigator and one-time secret actions soldier for many years, and also as a professional monster hunter. He may be seventy years old, but he looks at best no older than twenty, due to his own specific heritage as a Hinterland green dragon.
He is annoyed that this many years in, he still gets carded at the bar every time. The man in front of him talks into a headset quietly, frowns, and curls his lip at him before beckoning him inside. “In and out. We're busy.”
“I'll keep it brief, don't worry.” If all went well, this fishing adventure would hopefully net a quick informant once he singles out Jimmy, and gives him information on what the Talons are up to. It’s disturbing they are sending agents in via clandestine means, and recruiting under his nose. He needs to map out this cell of operators, and quickly. He steps inside the old-fashioned office down a short accessway. A secretary desk sits unused, the computer defunct and collecting considerable dust. He sees three other men in hoodies in the main office area, looking at him anxiously from behind computer screens. He can feel his draconic danger sense tingling.
This is not a friendly room, and they're eyeing him too intensely. He has his bolt pistol in his jacket and his hunting dagger and a few non-lethal concussive orbs, plus his low profile armor vest under his shirt, but he's worried about what they're armed with. He can see excess bulk just under the hoodies of two of them. Pistols, or maybe knives. And they're tense like they're ready to draw.
“Lance, he's with town hall, our crapper has a problem or something,” Noname says irritably to the one closest to Nick. “Can you take him to the basement and show him the mains?”
“I can't believe this, seriously you guys don't have anything better to do?!” his target, aka, Jimmy Cabresa demands from the rear console, a twenty-something man with short, military cropped hair and a scar on his chin. He isn’t high on the priority list, but Nick can bust him for any number of Veil protocol violations for taking privileged records. “This is a shakedown, we had building inspectors last month!”
“I assure you, I'm here on official capacity from the town hall.” He's made a mistake, this level of hostility is a warning sign something is really wrong. They are hiding something that warrants attention. He slowly unzips his jacket and shows papers to Lance. “Please read this–”
He slaps the papers to the floor, eyes narrowed. This one-seventy centimeter male with blonde hair and solid muscle is looking for a fight. “I think you're not from town hall.”
Shit. This is about to go bad. The two others are standing up, and Jimmy has a hand drifting to his back. And worse, he can smell pyromethanine in a poorly sealed barrel–a highly flammable extract from Valencian red dragons that powers their fire breath. If it lit off in here, the place would go up in an inferno in an instant. “Gentlemen, I think there's been a misunderstanding, I'll get my boss on the line to verify–”
“No. I smell a little lizard out of his depth,” Lance says with a snarl, claws starting to emerge from his fingers, and his hair growing longer and onto his face and hands.
Wargen. Gotta take him out first. Gunners next. This isn't Nick's first dance against multiple armed opponents, and in close quarters like this, they are at a disadvantage. “A little birdie told us to keep an eye for anything funny, and deal with it.” Nick takes a tactical step back as the men close, and he sees Jimmy pull a pistol–a Glock firearm, with an extended magazine, and likely converted illegally to full automatic. He's already got a plan as the two others pull pistols.
“Remember, you chose violence, not me.” Lance lunges with deadly sharp claws and the canine muzzle that emerges on his face gnashes, and Nick quickly sidesteps and redirects him into his buddy, both of them smashing into a desk and sending the monitor flying. The second one has made a rookie mistake and hasn't taken the safety off his pistol, Nick covers the distance in a blink, forces the gun aside, and punches him in the throat. He gasps for breath, out of the fight temporarily.
Jimmy however, is no rookie and fires a volley of nine millimeter death, but Nick isn't there to take the hit. He dodges behind the sturdy metal desk, and when he hears the magazine go empty, he grabs a monitor and flings it at Jimmy, smashing it into his face with dragon enhanced force. He keels backwards, moaning in pain. The Wargen is getting up and trying to claw his face, and the other guy is scrabbling for the fallen pistol. He pulls his hunting dagger and slices a long, deep cut on the man's arm, and the wolf-man recoils. Wargen have incredible healing abilities that didn’t make it a telling blow, and he tries to bite down on Nick's arm.
The knife swings direction and goes from under his muzzle and upwards, pinning his mouth shut and he gurgles in pain. A wound that isn't lethal, but boy is it incapacitating. He kicks him down and pulls the concussion orb and flicks it at Noname, who tries to reload the Glock, and Nick swerves behind an old iron support beam. The blast of air marks a successful detonation, and the man flying and crashing into the brick facade wall is just icing on the cake. Several loose bricks land on him to add injury to insult.
“Call King, we’re compromised!” Jimmy moans from his prone position. His arcane barrier took the brunt of the blast, but it’s weakly held together. Nick bulldozes him into the adjacent wall with a surge of draconic strength, cracking the bricks and the barrier in a shower of gold sparks, and Jimmy goes down again after taking another smashing blow to the face.
Nick glances up, assessing threats. He hits his emergency alert on his arcanlink–essentially a smart phone but for mages, and the SAF garrison is out on alert. Lance is still up and smashes Nick backwards into the wall, and it hurts. The wargen grimaces and pulls the knife out from his muzzle, and Nick has to respect how painful that must have been.
He tries to bring a blow downwards into Nick's chest, but he grabs him at the last second, and summons his ability as a Hinterland. Embers of fire emerge from his hands, burning the wargen, and his fur smolders. He's wide eyed and groaning in pain, in a desperate battle to the death. Pain eventually overcomes him, and Nick lands a smashing blow with an elbow and lands a powerful kick at his digitigrade knee joint, and it cracks. He goes down and Nick grabs the dagger back, and slams the man down on the floor.
Nick quickly pulls an energy binder and secures his hands behind his back, and he grabs the Glock pistol at the fourth man, who slumps and gives up. His face is bloodied and there's a couple broken teeth. “Put on that binder. Behind your back. Or I put you down.” The man groans before he closes the binders on his wrists, and Nick secures the other two.
Nick sighs, he felt a massive bruise on his chest forming–there’s a tear on his jacket. The impact plate on his armor vest under his shirt must have caught a stray bullet, and he doesn’t see any blood. He really should have been using his arcane barrier. The wound on his thigh from the claws of the Wargen hadn't registered, and he quickly puts a field regen compress on it. The bleeding stops, and he's eliminated the threats. He also very carefully takes the barrel of pyromethanine and puts it in the bathroom, and dumps the contents down the shower stall. The last thing he needed is the office incinerated.
Jimmy's still struggling when Nick slams him with an open hand into a rib, and he hears the man wheeze, and he staggers to the ground, winded. “Now Jimmy, we got off on the wrong foot here. You presumably know who I'm with, right?” The man glares at him and spits and head-butted him–too bad that Nick has a jaw of steel. Nick's had quite enough of that and wipes his face, before slamming another rib, and Jimmy screams in pain.
That rib had cracked. “You're SAF, right? Lance said the goddamn lizards are always the best enforcers.”
“Hunter and investigator, actually.” The pain has caught up with Jimmy and his eyes water from the agony. “What's so important that you decided to try to off someone from town hall?”
“Jimmy don't talk, don't say nothing!” Noname mumbles.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
“No, don't look at him, look at me,” Nick instructs. “I have a high degree of latitude in how I bring you in. Alive, damaged, or other,” Nick says with absolute calm. Jimmy nods, panting and trying not to cry. “Do not make my job harder. Where are the records you stole?”
“File cabinet,” he gasps. A quick shake of his head indicates which one to search.
“Second question, why?” Nick asks him and rummages through the cabinet. There's holes from the gunfire through one of the folders, much to his annoyance. Better holes through that than him, at least.
“Ah come on, it's records for a bunch of lizard families, petty larceny at worst, I'll be out on parole–”
“Get it straight, it's dragons. You sound like a deplorable git when you spam the slurs. It's not very polite, didn't your mother tell you to be nice to other Kin?”
“Eat shit.” Nick is tempted to break another rib, but one is already enough considering the paperwork he's going to have to fill out. Jimmy was quite feisty for being in binders already. He glances at the thumb drives–those he'll have to look at later. The folder has a number of blood work records of various individuals. Almost all of them are teens or early adults. He recognizes some names…and others that shouldn't be here.
Drenar?
Julia?
Angela?!
His head is spinning. None of them are on the official registry of mage families. And yet there are draconic markers in their genetic structure. How have they processed this? This is hundreds of records, it is far from trivial. “You didn't take this for yourself. This is research. High cost impact research. Where was your dropoff point, who were you delivering these to?”
“Eat shit, and I want a lawyer,” Jimmy mumbles. Nick hears the ping on his phone, plainclothes SAF agents are closing in. “You're messing with things you can't understand.”
“I have a habit of that, actually, and I am very good at learning things. This record snatching is Veil breach violations. You're doing time. Better make sure to take a deal when your minimum wage lawyer shows up. Also the attempted murder of an SAF agent is a major additive on the sentence, and the skies the limit. Enjoy jail,” Nick states coolly before SAF agents barge in, and he slowly shows his ID. They take the confiscated firearm and his bolt pistol, and the lead soldier frowns when he looks at the ID.
“Nick? Isn’t this deplorable beneath your paygrade?” he asks with a hint of amusement. “He’s a package guy and a pilferer.” He does, however, return his weapons.
“He might be. But those three are higher level agents. Strip the place for intelligence, read them their rights and preserve documents. Also, call the city. I had to dump pyromethanine down the shower stall so they didn’t get any cute ideas. It was starting to smell volatile, and we need to neutralize it. Exploding sewers tends to draw the wrong kind of attention,” he states dryly. The man laughs at this.
“Dear Gaia, having a legend like you back in town is kind of refreshing. But uh, what is that?” he asks. Nick is still clutching the records tightly.
“I don’t know, but I think I have an idea. Oh Jimmy, would you like to make a deal?” Nicholas asks with a grin. “You’re an absolute rubbish shot with a handgun, maybe we can make the firearm discharge, illegal automatic conversion, and attempted murder of an SAF agent…go away?”
“Don’t you dare Jimmy, they’ll burn us alive!” Noname exclaims. He’s struggling against the weight of an SAF agent securing his bindings and reading him his rights with a knee on his back. “She’ll melt us!” Jimmy looks terrified at that.
“Take him to the garrison, book him, set him up in an interrogation room. I’m gonna go phone a friend,” Nick states. The soldiers nod before Nick gets a cursory check by a medic.
He's been through way worse. But this whole situation is odd in a way that he doesn't have any idea where it's leading. But another piece clicks into place, and it's a thought that brings him more than a little hesitation in his step.
They knew I was coming. But how? Why? A clue rattles out when he thinks of the conversation. They'd mentioned King.
The architect of the mage criminal underworld.
The kingmaker.
He never directly participated, but connected criminal contacts for the right job at the right place, for the right price. And he was exceptional at staying hidden. His was a name he and Levine had only just learned a few months ago. Why would these low level nobodies be working directly with King?
Nick doesn't ponder it for long. Jimmy is being unceremoniously tossed into the unmarked SUV, and Nick puts a hand out. “Jimmy, last chance for a deal. Tell me why King has you working on this.” The other accomplices are still being treated for injuries inside. His face is a mess and his nose is broken, but Nick can see him doing the math.
“The records show it's working. That's the only hint you're getting before I get a deal in writing and a ticket to the darkest corner of the planet to hide in.”
“What's working?”
“Undoing the ascension events.” The plainclothes SAF agents push him into the vehicle, and close the door. Nick is standing there, unable to believe what he just heard.
The dragons have been gone for seven hundred years, save for several thousand that chose to stay behind during those horrific events. Sure, drakensouls trickle in every now and then, but no one knows precisely why. It isn't exactly news.
But bringing back all of them? Is it possible? And what would be the fallout of millions of dragons just popping back into the world? If the Talons are running some kind of experiment, and this is the end goal, what secret is in these records?
He has to be lying. But, what if he isn’t?
He pulls the folder open again, reading through the data as fast as he can. The blood work alone is disturbing. People with no known draconic heritage now have extensive dragon genetic markers. All in the span of the last three months. He keeps flipping through, and he sees Angela's bloodwork–likely from a yearly physical.
Nick has to admit, he has a soft spot for Angela. She’s a good student and has a kind heart, and an athleticism that’s impressive for a human. He winces and mentally reminds himself that she is less than a third of his seventy years of age, he's practically a grandfather to her. His own girlfriend is a member of a very small circle of women that are literally living legends of the magical world.
I shouldn't read this. This is so wrong, I should send this to Levine right away. He hesitates, and shakes his head after a moment. Gaia forgive me, I'm only doing this because these kids do not deserve to be guinea pigs in some kind of horrific arcanist experiment. He examines the data.
Angela has extensive draconic markers for the maridian silver genus, compared to a few months prior. And there are other markers that are circled and annotated for further review. Unknown. He snaps the folder closed, and pulls out his phone. Levine has to know about this. And only Levine. He picks up on the second ring.
“So, how did your little fishing–” Levine starts to say.
“It's all hands on deck, Levine. The Talons are working on something massive. I've got medical records indicating a statistically significant amount of kids are Awakening in town, and the Talons are somehow involved in it. I'm forwarding a list. Match it against the registered mage families in the area." The response back is a crisp and sharp Scottish accent from a man he has spent more than half his career fighting alongside, a man who is a walking encyclopedia.
"Nick, seriously, I thought this was supposed to be a small operation, not to make a big spectacle in your hometown. What rock did you kick over?" Levine Dillenger ponders over the phone. Nick can picture him now, sitting at a wooden desk so fashionably out of date that it’s almost charming. He imagines he's twirling his medium length, wavy dark brown hair with just a few slivers of silver in the only outward sign of his anxiety, and examining images with those antiquated glasses he wears over his light amber eyes.
Nick can imagine in that silence the forty-something male with milano colored skin tapping at a keyboard in a controlled rhythm, all wrapped around a lean and powerful physique of a man who should be doing less field work, not more, and still looks like he’s in his thirties. Minus the arthritis that occasionally flared up from two decades of action, the only true sign that the years have added up a bit. Levine is a powerhouse of a detective, if he has to pick a word that sums up his expertise.
Nick pauses as he ponders a response. "I don't know, Levine. I was expecting money laundering, large scale theft, maybe arms smuggling. Not this. Not the beginnings of some horrific arcanist experiment. Whatever they're up to, if this is replicable to scale, two million dragons reappearing could crack open the Veil and there's no fixing that. This is dire on a level I never could have expected, and we've been in some tough binds before. First, I'm gonna do a personal check on someone, I know some of these kids. We need you out here in the field as soon as possible."
"Be careful, Nick. The Talons aren't screwing around, someone's been covering up for them. Someone who's managed to barely evade even my investigatory skills.”
“I know who. King.” There is an awkwardly long pause.
“Is this why we knew nothing about this?”
“His involvement is massive. Keep this off the radar, Levine. I'll be in touch soon.” Nick clicks the phone off and gives out instructions to the second batch of cleanup crew, and hustles to his vehicle. I hope this doesn't come across as stalkerish, I really don't. But they have her blood work. What else do they know, and how far would they go to get more data? He calls Angela's phone–it goes right to voicemail. He tries again, to the same result. The school has a floating holiday today, but what is she doing? He glances down and practically holds his nose before calling her brother, James. Better to be safe than sorry. I just found out the Talons were going to these lengths just to get genetic data on the students, and they're certainly capable of a lot worse. James picks up on the first ring.
"Nick, I'm busy. Call back later, on a school day, for business class help," he says as if he can't be bothered to hold a conversation.
"James, this is not about school. I need to reach Angela on a sensitive matter," he replies calmly.
"Dude, get in line for fawning over my sister, Drenar's already at the front, and I'm sure she's picked herself a winner, much as it pains me to say that," James snaps. Nick hates how quickly James picks up on context and reading people. Even if he is off the mark a bit, this time. "Why are you bothering me?"
"Because her cell phone isn't working. Wait. Why aren't you with her?" Nick asks. He pulls the door open and gets behind the wheel. He is in no mood to fill out a hundred pages of paperwork for this fiasco, and he’s got far bigger problems now.
"Mind your own business, Legolas," James states testily. "I have enough on my plate at the moment."
"You have enough on your plate. Well then let me ask you, what exactly are you doing?" Nick pushes the point. Their house is about ten minutes away, Angela had given him her address for some strange reason. He knows Drenar's house through Evan, but he's never been there.
"Dude, you are sounding stalkerish right now, and I know how this low-rent cable TV movie ends. No Evan, I know they're there already, just wait a couple minutes."
The ‘they're’ catches Nick's attention. "James. Why are you at Evan and Drenar's house, and who's where?" Nick suddenly realizes he has a good idea of what's going on. James and Drenar may have heard part of his discussion with Levine at the school. Oh no. Tell me those idiot kids are not pulling a Goonies on me.
"James, I need to make it perfectly clear that you guys are digging into something way beyond your pay grade, and we all need to talk about some pretty serious stuff. Have any of you experienced some…strange symptoms?" Nick asks.
"Oh, you wanna know, do you? I don't want a free lobotomy, thanks. I'm gonna hang up now Nick–"
"James, have they shown any signs of their draconic physiology emerging?! Because I just laid out four individuals who were willing to kill to hide evidence that they were tracking the kids in the school. You could be in danger." James lets out a surprised, strangled response, and Nick turns on the speakerphone before flooring it down the road. "James, I work for people who handle the strange and unusual things of our world. And you need to tell me where Angela is right now."
"Ya know what, ya looney, I don't like your attitude–Evan what the hell!" James curses as someone presumably grabs the phone.
"Nick, no bull assessment. How much danger are we in?" Evan finally says with James still being belligerent in the background.
"Enough to make me worried." That finally convinces Evan, and he lets out a deep exhale.
"Meet us at our house. We need to talk."