"If it's too good to be true, it probably is."—a common-sense philosopher

A crescent moon rises over Irkshire, wickedly smiling over the town. A placard with the word d'Gustus and an engraving of a pint of ale, worn and hanging by a single name, sits outside a building of much the same countenance. Inside that bar, there is a room whose door is being opened slowly and quietly. Not but a few moments later, a man stands above the bed, cloth, the shadows, and a hood obscure his face. The man takes a dart and pokes the sleeping figure there.

The figure opens their eyes and struggles for a few moments before falling into a deeper slumber.

The man then drags the unmoving body off the bed and slings him onto his back. He exits the room, leaving it in a state of disarray. He is met by a shorter figure, one also obscured by the darkness of night. She nods to him and holds out her hand, in return, he places a sack into her hands.

After the exchange is done, the man walks down the stairs to the lower bar, and out the front door. Passerbyers, still lurking around even at this time at night, turn their heads away and ignore him. He continues down the streets, which get even less crowded from their already sparse state the farther he goes. He eventually takes a quick turn into an alley and walks down it with even practiced steps. The shadowy figure then approaches an inconspicuous door adorning one side. It does a series of knocks, 3 rapid ones, 2 longer ones, and ending with 7 rapid ones. The door opens, and a non-descript face pops out, looks at the man and his cargo, and opens the door wide while hurrying him inside.

The man enters quickly and sets his victim on the ground. Taking off his mask and hood, he heaves a sigh of relief at the absence of the discomfort from them and the now-absent weight.

"We still need him downstairs, if we don't harvest his organs in time we won't make the weekly quota…" says the man with a non-descript face and brown hair.

"Do you ever wonder why they need these? Or why we're getting paid so much to get them. It seems a waste of good potential, even as slaves, if you ask me, Jerry…"

Jerry looks at him with a blank expression, "I don't get paid to ask questions, neither do you and don't use my name on the job. You know protocol just as well as I do. Dan."

Dan gives him a look and picks up the flaccid soon-to-be emptier' corpse', "Well, if you want me to bring him downstairs, you're going to need to open it up, won't you. Jerry."

Jerry's expression sours and Dan's face lifts up into a triumphant one as Jerry presses a switch. A mechanism then whirls, and a bookcase slides over to the side revealing a metal door which soon opens afterwards. "So what was the target this time, another homeless bum, or did we go after someone with a constitution? One of those would be enough to fill our quota for months… as long as we don't get caught."

Dan starts down the stairs, and Jerry follows closing the door behind them. Once closed, the bookcase slides back into its prior position, leaving the room eerily quiet and empty.

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"Well, our source told me that they see the signs of a unique condition, but not the sine magicae that the academy is looking for. All the same, this should be worth several times more than what we would get selling the parts on a normal person."

Jerry's face shrivels once again, "You don't have any respect for protocol, do you?"

"Not a bit."

Jerry shakes his head.

They arrive shortly after at the bottom of the stairs and strap the body to the table.

"So, the parts we need are the brain, bone marrow, heart, and liver. Did I miss anything?" The man now grabbing a bag says as he approaches the corpse.

"Not much, just the lungs too. We'll need them to fulfill a side request."

Dan responds cheerfully, "Who's not following protocol now? You know that those are illegal."

Jerry responds in a mock-serious tone, "With your cut though, do you have the right to say that"

Both devolve into laughter for a moment, and then Dan gets serious.

"He'll need to be awake for the extraction, correct? Does that mean we go for the brain last?"

Jerry shakes his head, "I would think that you would know this by now Dan, though I agree that it's a special case since we're dealing with a constitution of some sort, probably a special or mutated one looking at the face. You're right though, the brain should come last. No anesthetic like with normal, we won't need to worry about returning this guy, especially with the full procedure. Though you should know that."

Dan nods his head, "Well, I should wake him now then."

Dan opens his bag and takes a syringe, extracting liquid from a capsule soon after with it and then injecting it into the body.

"Magic-inciting agents are really expensive, couldn't we just take off with these and make a larger profit?"

Jerry shakes his head as the body comes to, "Others have tried that, and examples have been made of them. I don't think that that is a good idea."

Dan nods while taking out a scalpel, "I know, just would be a lot more pleasant than this work…"

"Just get started, and make sure you finish by sunrise, we need to complete the deal by then, and the organs will only maintain their potency for so long. We don't want another batch being rejected for being out for too long."

Dan nods and starts an incision above the collar bone.

"Sorry for this friend, endure, and it'll be over soon."

The young man makes a silent scream.

…

Organs fill a bucket, and a dissected corpse lays on the table.

"JERRY," Dan yells, "It's done, so come get the organs before they lose their potency."

Jerry walks down the stairs, picks up the bucket, and quickly leaves.

"Make sure to dispose of the corpse, and don't leave a trail of blood like last time. I don't want to have to move hideouts because of stupidity like that."

Dan nods. He then proceeds to obtain a large bag while Jerry runs up the stairs, bucket in hand. Dan tilts the table and lets the corpse slide into the bag and then closes it. Checking to make sure no blood is dripping, he takes the back door into the alley.

Dan then walks to the opposite side of the city, finds a dumpster already populated with another corpse, no doubt a result of the town's frequent crim or simple starvation, and deposits it there. His work done, he pays no mind to the appearance of a black collar around the neck.

…

Hours pass, and no one notices the glow of the dark collar getting brighter. As it gets brighter, the open insides become obscured even in the shadows of the morning rays. Days pass, and then weeks, before the collar flashes once more.

What lays against the wall is no longer a naked corpse, unlike its neighbor who has started the process of rot, the signs of life dwell in it. The difference between its earlier and present appearance though is minor, but palpable. The horns once nubs have grown, and are now visible to the casual viewer. Otherwise, there is now a scar, jagged but following a pattern, around his neck as well as along the line of his chest and skull where he was dissected.

The first sound to grace the desolate area, abandoned by the town-proper and the law, was that of mage-speak,

"What the heck just happened!"