Zaccaria was nothing less than flabbergasted. This now clearly concussed dwarf, who had not one minute ago seen him appear from nothing, naked and scarred, and kill 8 people in a few seconds had just offered him… a job. It beggared belief. This man, this dwarf, this fashion calamity, had seen all of this with his own, presumably functioning eyes and decided that yes, this man, this naked mass murdering maniac in front of his eyes was indeed the man for whatever job he required.

Truly nobody else could be a fit. It had to be him. Zaccaria. On one hand, he was relieved that someone would approach him with a positive attitude after such a thing but on the other he was sincerely worried the man in front of him might have suffered severe, chronic brain damage, or that he might have already had it, considering his taste in clothing, and the beating by the red bandits the had worsened an already critical situation.

Bheren Fendhalm, as he had called himself, did not notice any of this internal turmoil and simply kept grinning a winning smile, like it was a done deal. Which, honestly, it might have been. What other options were there exactly? He could just say no and leave, attempt to make his own way into whatever planet he had appeared on, but that would take months, if not years. He knew nothing of this world, its people, its government, its laws. Just getting documentation would be a nightmare. He’d have to find forgers, convince them that he wasn’t a ticking time bomb and then pay them, hoping that he didn’t come to the attention of the authorities, be they legal or otherwise. Not to mention the language and the cultural norms that were so basic that even asking about them might attract attention.

Meanwhile, this Bheren fellow seemed to have no regard for his own safety and was clearly willing to accept strangeness so along as it was possibly useful. His translator was clunky but mostly accurate and now that he got a better look at the suit, mostly unclouded by horror, he noticed its stiff and wide cloth probably hid or outright was some sort of armor, so he was resourceful on some level. Was that enough for a long term partnership? Probably not, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and quite frankly Zaccaria had long gotten tired of the vagrant lifestyle, even when not enforced by Horrors. He had suffered worse than working for a crazed dwarf.

“What’s the job?” He asked finally, dearly hoping it wasn’t something ridiculously dangerous or disgusting.

The smile, that somewhat worrying smile, got even wider as he responded.

“Assistant private investigator!”

Zaccaria looked at him.

“You’re a detective” He said, trying, and failing, to not sound disbelieving.

“Private investigator! And dare I say, the best in all of Mirat!” His voice, deep, pleasant and jovial, was somewhat undercut by the nasal tone granted by a broken nose and Zaccaria’s fervent belief in his brain damage.

“And… what exactly does the job require?” He asked, still not entirely convinced. He had little to no skills related to such a job. His investigative skills, such as they were, were used exclusively for the search and study of magical and eldritch knowledge. The search mostly being made up of bribing or intimidating people or spirits with the information he required. Then again, his extensive knowledge of the occult might prove useful…

Bheren’s eyes glistened with excitement. He wasn’t just ecstatic about his new hire. He was genuinely, truly filled with love and passion for his work. And he was going to make everybody else know it. And in that moment specifically, Zaccaria. He spoke with zeal and speed which the translator struggled to match but the message was sent. And what a message it was.

“Oh, it’s a job’s job! We need to be flexible, cunning, prepared for anything and everything! People will ask us to solve problems they can’t or won’t call the Armigerie for. Disappeared people, stolen items, background checks, criminal activity and more. A corporate executive wants an employee found because he ran off with important information, an Helmonian Count wants us to find where his son disappeared to in the city and sometimes even the mayor’s office calls for some help. It’s tiring, demanding work but little compares in terms of satisfaction and utility. You’ll need to be tough, you’ll need to be smart and most important of all, you’ll need to be observant. Now you’re definitely the first thing and something tells me you’ve got the second down pat and as for the third? Well, you can tell I’ve got a damn good offer so I’m pretty sure it’s not gonna be an issue.”

It was certainly a very impressive offer, taken at face value. The words of a salesman spoken with the passion of a young artist. Indeed, were he still a child Zaccaria would have accepted the offer right then and there. But he was a man now, and though he believed the dwarf to be honest, the words spoke of embellishment worthy of the most shameless politicians. Especially the part complimenting him. It was appreciated, but trying a bit too hard. Hopefully he didn’t talk like that all the time.

“Something tells me you’re making your work sound much smoother and more pleasant than it actually is. Also, while appreciated the compliments were rather obvious. I’m not a client and you’re not a salesman. You don’t need to sell me anything, just tell me what the job actually entails.”

The dwarf blushed a bit, not expecting having the wind being taken out of his sails in such a manner, but he quickly composed himself and responded, though with far less excitement and vigor.

“Well, alright, perhaps it’s not… always the most rewarding job. Clients lie… like a lot. Especially if they’re nobility or corpos. And they can get pissed pretty easily for the most ridiculous of reasons, like not solving the case in day. It can get pretty frustrating when you reach a dead end and you have to brute force it through checking records or asking a thousand different people the same five questions. And the mayor’s office doesn’t really call… unless they’re pissed. And you need to be tough and smart because you’re probably gonna get threatened. Like a lot. Maybe beaten too. Or shot at. It can get pretty intense. It’s Mirat, everyone and their mother hires deniable assets for the most menial shit.”

He looked at the corpses in the alley, pensive, then touched his nose and winced, letting out a quite hiss.

“Yeah, that’s definitely broken. So yeah, it’s not that nice and I am sorry about the salesman spiel. Talking like that gets most clients off my back, so it’s kinda standard protocol for negotiations. Though, well, it can be less than useless with people that see through it, like you. Regarding the work… it can be pretty shitty. BUT, but but but but it IS rewarding and satisfying, and if you get the right clients it can pay pretty damn well for relatively little work. Like missing kids. 90% of the time they’re getting high at a friend’s house.

There’s also a lot of chore jobs that you can mostly do from home, like infidelity or background checks. You’d be shocked what you can find about a man’s kinks just by looking at his socials. So it can be bad, especially if you have shit clients but even when there’s nothing interesting to do, there is always work. This city has always need for Private Investigators. People with the money and willingness to hire us are allergic to talking to the Armigerie for anything they think might make them look bad to their peers.”

Bheren stopped for a moment, recovering his breath and looked, really looked at Zaccaria. Zaccaria looked back. The dwarf’s eyes were as blue and clear as the sky, the very image of innocence but he could see they were filled with a focus and insight rarely possessed by people. Those were not the eyes of a fool. And in turn, Fendhalm too saw. A single, lonely crimson orb, churning with will and experience. It had seen much. It would see more. Hopefully, it would do so with his help.

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“Now, I don’t know who you are and what you’re about. But you did save me, even if you were mostly defending yourself. Red Reavers might not be the cream of the crop but they’re vicious enough that it usually doesn’t matter. They kill people for shits and giggles. It’d be comical how violent they are if it wasn’t real. And you killed 8 of them while tanking a hail of plastic like it was nothing. This might be the concussions tal-”

So he was concussed. Zaccaria knew it. He knew nobody would be that reckless without cerebral damage.

“-king, but you strike me as a reasonable guy. So I’m just gonna lay it for you, run you the whole tape. I need a bodyguard. A real bodyguard, not some handsome rent-arm for parties. But I can’t really afford one. All the freelancers are expensive as shit and hiring one from a p-sec company is just begging for them to spy on me and my clients. Not to mention what would happen if I had to investigate one of their customers. Plain conflict of interest. So what happened here…”

He vaguely gestured at the quiet carnage.

“Is, if nothing else, a sign. I can’t give up because of hired thugs or I pretty much have to stop doing any of the more serious jobs. As I said, it’s Mirat. The last couple of years have already been pretty quiet and I’m losing my edge. Had way more close calls than I’d like. But I can’t keep going like this or I’m gonna get killed. I had a flash talisman for the morons before you arrived, but even then it was a close thing, wasn’t sure if they were going to give me the chance to use it. And then you come in outta nowhere and just… delete them. Never seen a clearer sign, the Old Bastards couldn’t be more obvious, praise their dumb long beards. So, a few questions, before my final offer.”

His gaze turned more serious and inquisitive. Just from looking at his eyes, it was easy to tell that even the slightest lie would be caught regardless of the language barrier and result in a swift and decisive change to the tone of the conversation.

“Do you have any documents? Any at all?”

Zaccaria raised his eyebrow and gestured at his naked body.

“What you see is what you get.” He said amused.

Bheren couldn’t help but follow his gesture and through he tried to hide his discomfort, he failed. Moranni knew it was not his nakedness that disturbed the investigator.

“Don’t worry. I know I look like the summary of war zone. It is natural to be disquieted by it. I am not offended.”

Fendhalm quickly returned his gaze to Zaccaria’s face, somewhat ashamed to have shown his feelings about the state of his body.

“Right. Of course. Sorry anyway. So, other question. Is anybody following you? Anybody at all?”

He said this with genuine worry in his voice. It was sensible. It would be self-defeating to hire a bodyguard that carried danger with him. Zaccaria thought about this for a good few seconds, even though he knew it was a pointless endeavor, done more for the sake of nostalgia than practicality. Everyone who might have followed him was dead. Including his enemies. Especially his enemies.

Oh Torquemada, without you to hate, the world is a quieter place.

“No. If there is anybody, I do not know of them”

“Good. That’s good. Thanks for the honesty. The last two questions then. Why Elthalis and what is your plan for the future?”

This question was spoken with a certain intensity to it. Curiosity. Cautiousness yes, but much curiosity. “Why here? Why now?” Wondered the detective.

“I had no control over my destination. My method of travel, while necessary, was unsafe and uncontrolled. Chance led me here. Or Fate. Whichever you prefer. As for the future…”

He looked at the architecture around him. It was unpleasant, abandoned, defaced. But it was alive. Made unpleasant by people, abandoned by people, defaced by people. Not just a rotting monument to a murdered past. If this was bad, then the good would be utterly magnificent. His heart, for only a moment, filled with the hope of a child. He returned his gaze to Bheren with a small, honest smile on his face. The investigator himself was rather confused by this as he could not image what positive feelings could be possibly caused by observing Siegeal architecture. Especially in an alley this ugly.

“I want to begin again. Build a new life. Seek the New Dawn.”

The detective’s confused expression softened and was replaced with one of compassion. Even through the translator and harsh demonic dialect, he could tell just how much emotion was put into those words. This really mattered to the man in front of him. Mattered like few things ever could.

“Alright, I think that’s enough for now. I got a feel on you, I think… I think I can trust you. We’ll have to, you know, talk more later, cause this still isn’t much but it’s enough for now. And believe me, if you want a new life you came to the right place, even if by accident. Mirat, no, Elthalis is where everything happens baby! Lords and paupers, CEOs and interns, Presidents and pen-pushers, Rich and poor, normal and strange, they ALL come here. It’s the planet at the center of the Wheel, even though it’s actually a hundred thousand Light-Secs to the side but no one cares cause it’s that cool! Art, food, fun, opportunity, we got it all. And...”

His mouth exploded into a golden grin.

“I think an Assistant Private Investigator is a damn good start. It’s how I did it after all. So, I’ll take care of things. I’ll get you some documents, give you a roof, get you started on this new life thing. And if you don’t like it? Well, you can leave, preferably after a small period of making sure I’m not violently murdered. We’ll have to straighten it all out but I think this is a good first draft. So what do you say? Interested?”

Zaccaria had to admit, the salesman wording might begin to grow on him eventually. There was one last thing to clarify before he accepted.

“I am interested. I’d like one last question before I make my decision.”

“Of course! I want there to be no misunderstandings between us.”

“Why assistant P.I. if you just need a bodyguard?”

“Oh, that. Well to legally call yourself a bodyguard on Elthalis you need a whole bunch of certifications, which require courses and studies, which require documentation you do not have… Sure, I could give you a bullshit title that doesn’t require any of that but both Armigers and clients can smell that a mile away, especially when it’s inconvenient. Which is always. But to be an assistant private investigator you only need to enter an apprenticeship under a fully certified P.I.”

He happily pointed his thumbs at himself.

“That’d be me. I’m the P.I.”

“Sensible. But you offered the job before you knew I was undocumented.”

“Observant! Already an excellent start. Well, truth be told having just a bodyguard is fine, but I’d honestly like an actual partner. Someone to bounce ideas with, to observe cases from a different point of view. Honestly, doing this job by yourself gets pretty tiring. Especially when the client or case is a pain the ass. Do you have any idea how it feels to want to shit-talk someone with a coworker but have no actual coworkers? It’s a uniquely frustrating experience. Of course, you can be just a bodyguard if you want to. You will have to get certified eventually or it’s going to look suspicious but it is doable.”

“No, I’m perfectly willing to investigate. It seems like an interesting career.”

“Fuck yeah!” Bheren pumped his fist, victorious.

“Now that we have come to an agreement… are we going to do something about your nose?”

The dwarf’s nose had only gotten redder and more swollen during the conversation. It was honestly starting to worry Zaccaria.

“And the corpse-filled alley? I’m shocked nobody has come yet” He said as he looked behind himself.

“My nose, right, right. It’s actually starting to get pretty painful. As for the bodies… It’s Falton, man. Armigers aren’t gonna touch this place unless it’s burning down. Even then, reluctantly. I feel bad for them but they reaped what they sowed, someone’s gonna pick them up later. Probably looters if social services don’t get to them. But yeah, best we leave. This is not a good look.”

Bheren pulled a thin, purple rectangular item that Zaccaria deduced was most likely a phone from one his pockets and started quickly tapping on its screen.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Calling my car. I left it out of Falton so it’s gonna take about a quarter of an hour to reach us. Hopefully faster. This is… starting to get disturbing.”

Disturbing? What was distu- Right, the bodies. While getting relatively comfortable, Zaccaria had fallen back on his old mentality. No, Zaccaria. Bad Zac. Return to normality. You did it so well a few minutes ago. Normal people are not fine in the presence of dead men.

“You aren’t used to corpses I take it?” Still, it didn’t hurt to make sure.

“Not at all. Clearly you’re different… no offense of course. Different people, different experiences. Anyway, P.I.s don’t really deal with murders. That’s way too hot, gets the Armigerie right on your ass. The only way we’re getting on a murder case is if the Arms have given up on it or they’re very fucking desperate and ask for help. The latter basically never happens, at least not to me. It pretty much only happened once, and that was a friend in the force personally asking for help.”

His eyes suddenly looked downwards, saddened.

“Man, that was not a good time. Not at all.”

“My condolences.”

“It’s fine. It was just… pretty heavy. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Of course. Does your car have any spare clothes? I’m really starting to feel the breeze.”

Bheren’s eyes bulged, thankfully not in Zaccaria’s direction.

“Ah, fuck.”