Zeraki sat cross-legged on top of a train coach, slowly healing his sprained ankle. The sky was golden as the sun set over horizon with the wind currents blowing from behind him.
[I feel sorry for her. ] Number 3 whispered before falling silent again.
The imposter they were looking for was inside the train coach Zeraki sat on. She was far from the rich, 200-IQ-ed strategist they had imagined.
In fact, she looked like a young adult coming home from her third work shift; burdened and exhausted.
[Number 7: There is no ethical consumption under capitalism. Or rather, your version of what entails ethics is absent, dear sister. I have a feeling this won't be the worst of what we are about to see.]
Zeraki remained detached to it all and simply followed the girl. What she did for a living being none of his concern.
The train made a couple of stops before terminating at Stellar Jay. From which they switched trains and headed towards the costal district, Pacifica.
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{ Calling at: Pacifica Queen’s Cross }
The sun had long set by the time the train's stop was announced and the woman moved to get off.
Zeraki took it easy on his sprained ankle and steadily got off the train’s coach.
Unlike the industrial and business districts, Queen's Cross looked more like a warehouse and storage district. The streets were wide and few steam pipes were visible in the streets. The vast artificial waterfalls that gave the other districts their distinct signature looks were absent. Instead, large structures and many stacked steel containers were present.
The woman, exhausted as she was, walked to Pacificas’ version of the Thousand Li market and went to a bricked house situated a street away from a rowdy bar. It had traditional tribal beads hanging from the top of the door and a large man standing guard.
Zeraki got in line at the bar entrance while Number 7 followed the woman.
(Number 7 POV)
“Been a while Cello. You here for Shinohara-san?” the big guy looked down and asked. Though he didn't smile, there was familiarity in his tone.
“Hi yah Rupert. Yeah… I am. Can she see me now?” the exhausted woman asked.
“Give me a minute. I'll find—”
“Get in here, child!”
Cello looked at Rupert, puzzled, but he just shrugged and moved aside, letting her through. He too had no idea why Shinohara was in a terrible mood.
The house was dimly lit and looked smaller than it was supposed to be at first glance; Number 7 figured there were many hidden rooms and/or compartments all over the place.
An old woman sat behind a desk with all sorts of trinkets lining it's top. She had on a thin band around her head that dimly glowed red with her eyes closed.
“Why is the Orion family demanding your head on a platter?” the old woman’s cold tone sounded.
Cello scrunched her eyebrows and Number 7 picked up a steady build up of irritation radiating from her, “The Orions lost their children. They were planning on getting help from the Duke tracking them down before I left. I just came to make the report and go home, Shinohara-san.”
The red light on the band began dimming before old lady Shinohara opened her eyes and looked to the corner of the table where a deep purple walking stick lay.
“…they have some balls setting up one of my own, I'll give them that.” Old lady Shinohara calmly stated.
“What do you mean, Shinohara-san?”
“As you just said, child, the natural course of action is asking for help, said ‘help’ looks for clues, then eventually finds leads.
“By the time the Orions reached out to me, I should have already given your report to our client.” She pointed at the walking stick.
“But that hasn't happened. The Orions have found leads and reached out to me earlier than calculated. You get to see another sunrise, child.”
“That's not what I like to hear, Shinohara-san.”
Number 7 picked up waves of rage radiating from the calm looking woman.
Old lady Shinohara pointedly ignored her and waved it off as she leaned back and the red band slowly turned on,
“I've scheduled a psyche evaluation for you next week Friday. Don't let the door hit you on your way out, child.” old lady Shinohara said as she drifted off to sleep again. At least that's what Number 7 thought.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
From how fast the irritation and rage on Cello cooled, Number 7 reckoned a psyche evaluation was a good thing.
Cello left the house and found Rupert still standing guard. She leaned against the door and just looked up into the sky without a change in facial expression.
“You look happy.” Rupert rumbled.
“She's helping me get a License.” Cello tilted her head and gave him an exhausted smile.
For the first time, Number 7 saw fluctuation in Rupert's otherwise steady sentiments, happiness.
“Congratulations.” He said, then looked back and stared into Cello’s eyes, “Get out of here, rodent.”
Cello didn't stand on ceremony and pushed off the wall with the intent to head home, “See you arou—”
(Zeraki’s POV)
Zeraki watched this play out and almost couldn't hold back a yawn. That was until the Cello pushed off the wall and walked into a drunk man.
“Curse whatever filthy womb birthed you, whore.” the man spat. An intense wave of rage sentiment radiated from Cello.
A sentiment that resonated with Zeraki’s dark mass and stoked it in all the right ways that he had a feeling of oneness with her. He deeply understood exactly what she felt.
This wiped away Zeraki's boredom and he looked forward to seeing how someone else dealt with what he struggled with.
Cello’s rage simmered but she remained serene and untroubled in her expressions; not a single ripple could be seen on her face. The rage cooled after a while and she went back to looking exhausted. She looked at Rupert who just nodded his approval.
Zeraki was confused. He of all people understood how hard it was taming rage yet the woman handled the sudden impulsive, explosive emotion like it wasn't even hers.
He watched as she disappeared into the crowd still puzzled yet with a growing interest in how she pulled it off.
Though he lost visual of her, Number 7 hadn't. He followed his verbal instructions through the straight streets and perpendicular intersections for close to half an hour.
[ Number 4: Otou-san, she's stalking someone. ]
‘Who?’
[ The drunk she bumped into… ] Number 7 muttered in realization.
Zeraki walked in between two containers that had been stacked thrice over giving the impression of a story building on a budget.
He had the shadows shrouding him in darkness. From his current elevation, he could see most of what happened below him without relying on Number 7’s narration.
Cello had once again shape shifted into the form of an overly sensual mature woman in the streets below and though she flirted with those that approached her, Zeraki noticed that she never left with anyone.
Ten minutes in and the man she bumped into happened to walk through the street she was on. To no one's surprise, he hobbled over to her and Number 3 couldn't help but palm her face.
“Hey there beautiful… come on don't look down on me like that, where my height don't reach, my pockets surely do.”
A glint of feigned interest flashed through Cello’s eyes making the poor sob laugh.
“Well, lassie. I believe I've seen your picture before.”
“Oh? And where might this be, sir?” she raised an eyebrow.
“Here…” the man took out a spherical gadget from his pocket that had grooves curved on its surface and pressed on it. A spherical water film formed around it and then evenly expanded in all directions to a radius the length of his entire forearm. A three dimensional glowing likeliness of the night sky remained static before them. It was one of the most beautiful things Number 3 had ever seen.
“Tsk tsk tsk. They plagiarized your entire likeliness, Miss out-of-this-world.” The man said, looking genuinely remorseful.
[ Aww, he's not so bad. ] Number 3 swooned. She'd gone from cringing to being floored in less than a minute.
Number 4’s eyes, though, remained glued on the gadget in the man's palm while Number 7 watched Cello's expressions.
Cello smiled at the man, “Well sir, you just became a candle I'd love to blow out.”
Number 7 didn't need to look at the man's sentiments to know that he was aroused, [ I've always hated double-entendres,] he muttered.
Zeraki didn't quite get it but he wasn’t concerned about that. He just needed to know how she handled her rage.
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(Cello’s POV)
In a dark alley, Cello gently pushed the man against a container’s steel exterior and leaned in close. She really didn’t want to be here. She was exhausted both mentally and emotionally and the grade 2 artefact on her person kept her on a razor’s edge.
Finally getting the man’s approval to do as she pleased to him marked the end of the ritual.
“Don’t move. I need a some air.” She let out a sigh and moved back, pulling out an unassuming pocket watch.
Its surface was polished brass with a slightly worn leather strap, making it look like a vintage heirloom. The watch face was classic, with ancient witch numerals and delicate hands. Though the hands moved in a curious rhythm that seemed almost alive.
Cello released the image she’d kept in focus within her mind while gently unwinding the watch. As the hands spun, the release of imagery also reflected as her physical features changed along with it. It hurt, more than anything, but Cello didn’t so much as flinch. As her cheek bones got grinded down, the added flesh on her rear and chest region burned. After a minute of torment, the watch’s soft ticking gradually shifted to a resonant chime, signalling the completion of transformation.
Cello sat down, dropped the pocket watch to the ground and pulled her clothes tightly around herself before she started sobbing into her knees.
A long while later, she pulled herself together, took a deep breath and reached for the pocket watch again.
She looked at the man still standing against the container’s exterior, dread evident in his eyes.
Cello shook her head, “I’m not angry at you, sir. It’s your tongue that sullied my mother's memory. I’ll release you once I remove and burn it. Please don’t move too much, I don’t want to hurt you.”
Cello stood then approached the man and asked him to please open his mouth to make it easier for both of them. Though the man opened his mouth, he’d began wetting himself as tears streaked down his cheeks.
“I’ll try and make this short,” she promised and reached into the man’s mouth with the thumbs and knuckle to her fore fingers, clamping down on his tongue. Then she yanked.
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(Zeraki’s POV)
Zeraki watched as Cello gave up using her hands to using thin steel rods she picked up somewhere in the streets.
‘She rationalized her fury’ he commented, oblivious to Number 3’s silent weeping.
[ Father, I don’t think we should be taking anger management classes from a clinically insane Extractor. ] Number 7 commented, unmoved by the spectacle.
‘But she’s right about his tongue being the source of her anger. If she had better tools at her disposal, it wouldn’t be so… bloody.’
[ Number 4: Agree to disagree, Otousan. ]
[Number 3: We should do something.] she sobbed.
Zeraki finally took notice of how distraught Number 3 was and moved to get away from the dark alley they were in.
They walked around parts of Pacifica Queen's Cross and by the time they circled back to Cello, they'd all come to the dreadful consensus that Cello was infact one of the very few sane Extractors.
[ Is being bat shit crazy a requirement to becoming an Extractor or a side effect?] Number 4 finally asked.