Three days whizzed by amidst the typical hustle and bustle of training - each day identical, as though spit out of a copier. I could confidently say that I had finally acclimated to this new life. Weariness and anxiety were my consistent companions, but this was more my own doing. I simply couldn't disregard Maya's proximity, even though, as a grown man, I should have gracefully accepted her firm "no." Consequently, my sleep was fitful, only succumbing to slumber through meditative techniques.
If not for the ceaseless chatter of the two "C's," I could have spiraled into a genuine depression. If the original Izao were in my shoes, he would undoubtedly plunge into a pit of self-pity so deep that external help would be needed to pull him out. Not only did Claire and Christian prevent me from a similar path, but the affairs of the raigs also kept me afloat.
Yesterday, the BKDW building was officially reopened after renovations. It was inaugurated without pomp and circumstance, bereft of media-invited parties. The event was conducted simply, casually: only the members of the organization and the curators gathered; they didn't even host a banquet because this wasn't a celebration, merely a formality. But maybe that's how it should be; why should such an event be made public?
With our headquarters back in operation, the Knights started receiving payments for Breakthroughs and site registrations, as well as bounty for hunting criminals. Witnessing the process from the inside - the money coming in, the staff checking it under the constant, invisible scrutiny of either Crixus, Halley, or Maya - I realized that my previous jaunt abroad to exchange the money I received from BKDW was entirely superfluous. Mr. Rock, and through him the Castle, played fair in this regard - no flagged bills or identical series that could be traced relatively easily.
I also received a payment, a substantial one at that. As it turned out, the Break Knights who had officially joined the BKDW were now receiving double rewards. For the House on the Hill, these were mere centimes, but for the younger folks, such a bonus could be a deciding factor in choosing to join the organization or remain a "free raig." It was Crixus who had secured this increase in funding, something he took pride in as he explained the sudden surge in bonuses to the recipients.
The Corsican is a natural-born politician and knows all too well that such populism is most memorable. I'm not sure why he covets the position of the organization's head, but he's making significant strides to attain it. Until recently, I thought his chances in the upcoming vote were slim since Maya and I supported Halley for the post. No matter how hard Crixus tried, our collective authority and influence over the Knights were much greater. But, with the perplexing incident involving Mersk, my support for Halley wavered, and I wasn't as vocal about it as I had been.
If I were purely business-minded, I would disregard the tradition that only an open Knight can head the BKDW and take the leadership role myself. However, I've no desire to shoulder the responsibilities of a leader. I am already swamped with worries and challenges, and time is a luxury I can't afford. Perhaps a more accountable and altruistic person in my position would have embraced this burden, but not me.
The more I observe Crixus, the more evident it becomes that he is a far superior manager and leader compared to Halley. He has been specifically trained to command people, and it's clear he didn't neglect these lessons. Maybe, despite him being a newcomer to the city and our differing personalities and viewpoints, I should back him in the vote? I probably would have if I could fully decipher his hidden motives, but for now, I remain uncertain.
I needed to pull myself together, approach Maya, disclose the clandestine meetings between Halley and Mersk, and devise a mutual strategy. It was crucial yet seemingly impossible to calmly approach her and initiate a conversation. Maya also seemed to avoid me, probably feeling awkward after our last exchange. And while she simply steered clear of me, she was utterly repelled by Crixus. Whenever he made an appearance, Maya would hastily retreat. Her behavior only reinforced my suspicion of her feelings for the Corsican.
These thoughts were unsettling, gnawing at me from within and fraying my nerves. Despite understanding this, I couldn't completely suppress them. Even for a forty-year-old, it's painful to witness the object of your affection harboring feelings for another. What's worse is that I can't discuss this with anyone, can't vent, can't lighten the load on my heart. Of course, I could unload all of this on Zanh Kiem, but he has been avoiding me, likely sensing the lingering traces of my anger towards him...
This morning, I allowed myself to sleep in past nine for the first time in ages. Today and tomorrow, our small group had a weekend with the right to visit the city instead of being confined to the campus. Claire and Christian planned to meet their relatives, but I had different plans. After a leisurely breakfast at the relatively inexpensive university cafeteria, I waited for a bus, and by ten o'clock, I was in the business district of Wilflaes.
I was interested in electronics stores. Or rather, one particular store which sold the scanner model I needed. After extensive research and consultations with art students, I had determined the most suitable model for my needs was a professional and rather pricey one. Additionally, I required a popular image editing software that was nearly as costly as the scanner itself. I would've readily purchased it from the black market for no more than twenty francs, but "Purity" forbade me. Wincing at the sting in my left palm, I had to dish out a hefty sum for a licensed version. Luckily, I saved on a printer, as Melanie had procured a quality one six months before her departure to Paris.
Having purchased everything I needed, I hailed a taxi and headed home, where I spent the rest of the day setting up and configuring the new equipment. The bulk of my time was consumed not by the hardware setup, but by familiarizing myself with the software on a rudimentary level. Fortunately, my requirements were basic - I needed not to eliminate imperfections but rather to "spoil" my images by applying simple filters.
This flurry of activity provided a welcome distraction from my prevailing troubles; thoughts of Maya and Crixus receded to the back of my mind. Late into the night, when I printed an image that made the epic battle of multi-ton robots appear as if sketched with multicolored pencils, a genuine smile crossed my face for the first time in days. I even managed to drift off to sleep naturally, without needing to meditate or use the Spark.
The next morning, I was greeted by birdsong and sunlight filtering through the window. The alarm, set for eight, didn't irk me with its ringing. I could've lingered in bed, but a swift transition to the Break and back effortlessly swept away any remnants of sleepiness. Despite only getting six hours of sleep, I felt remarkably refreshed.
As usual, I checked the refrigerator, only to find it barren. Having been absent from home, I hadn't stocked up on groceries. However, this wasn't a significant problem. I packed a few blank sheets and pencils into a folder and headed out for breakfast at one of the numerous open-air cafes.
While sipping tea and waiting for my light salad order, I almost completed the storyboard for one sheet. This task, once a draining endeavor, was now handled with ease and fluidity. My sketching was only interrupted by the arrival of my salad.
Setting aside an empty plate, I spotted a familiar figure sprinting down the alleyway. Without thinking, I glanced at my watch. Right on time, just like clockwork. That kid, a local shapeshifter who had forsaken his clan to care for his ailing mother, was as predictable as ever. For some reason, this simple, mundane detail reminiscent of my life before university sparked an involuntary smile on my face.
Not long ago, at the start of summer, I had been so intrigued by this young man that I had even checked up on his living conditions in the Break. Now, reflecting on it, my actions seemed intrusive and a tad ridiculous.
Once the kid vanished around the corner, I turned my attention back to my storyboards. The more I thought about it, the more appealing he seemed as a character: a figure defying his clan's will, following his own moral compass. He would make a compelling addition to my comic, providing a contrast to the protagonist and offering readers a different perspective on the world of the "truly born". Yes, it was a good idea! However, introducing such a character right off the bat would disrupt the existing plot. He would be a perfect fit for the fourth arc though, with only minor adjustments needed.
After sketching on three more sheets and finishing my breakfast, I paid my bill and started my leisurely walk home, seeking refuge from the scorching sun under the shade of trees. I needed to experiment with prana-sensitive paper, transferring my storyboard sketches to it, a task more demanding than single full-page drawings. Regardless, I was confident that with patience and effort, I would succeed.
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About halfway home, an ambulance parked outside an apartment building caught my eye. It was the same building where the shapeshifter kid and his sick mother lived. My gut feeling told me something was wrong, and it wasn't mistaken. Two burly paramedics emerged from the building, carrying a stretcher with the unconscious mother. Following them was a doctor, explaining something to the ashen-faced boy. It was clear that the situation was dire and the woman needed immediate hospitalization. Although it was none of my business, the sight of the boy's increasingly solemn face as he listened to the doctor's explanation quickly dampened my previously cheerful mood.
Indeed, at times you have to face such curveballs: one moment you're reveling in the tranquility of an ordinary day, and the next, your world is spiraling out of control. Unfortunately, life can be a ruthless mistress.
In the meantime, the paramedics were loading the woman into the ambulance, and the doctor, I presumed, asked the boy to accompany her. He willingly agreed. The street was full of people at that time, but they were all too engrossed in their own lives, purposefully avoiding any eye contact with the ambulance and arcing wide around it. I had wandered about fifty meters away when I glanced back, spotting something odd just before the ambulance doors closed and it pulled away from the curb.
Could it be my imagination, or did I see the doctor place an injector against the shapeshifter boy's neck as he turned away, just before the ambulance took off? It must have been my mind playing tricks on me; the doctor wouldn't... But my thoughts and self-justifications were abruptly cut short by a sharp pain and a numbing cold in my left palm. "Purity" had weighed in, making it abundantly clear that I couldn't simply ignore what was transpiring.
I didn't have time to run back home and change. If I took another ten seconds, the ambulance would blend into the traffic, and I would lose it. Given that the "Purity" was unrelenting, and the excruciating cold was steadily creeping up my arm with each passing second, I had no choice but to duck into the first doorway I came across. Ensuring no one was around, and throwing caution to the wind, I slipped into the Break. The only concession I made to my paranoia was not directly re-emerging onto the street, but instead darting up the stairs to exit through the rooftop. I realized this was a primitive and unreliable way of covering my tracks, but it was better than nothing. From my elevated vantage point, I easily spotted the ambulance weaving its way through the thick flow of traffic.
Keeping the vehicle in my sights as it navigated the city was fairly straightforward. Despite the driver's best efforts to speed up, the metropolis had its own rhythm, and morning traffic jams were a universal hurdle. Moreover, the ambulance didn't switch on its sirens, presumably to avoid drawing unnecessary attention, so it was moving at the same pace as the rest of the traffic.
In theory, I could swoop down now and incapacitate all the kidnappers with my Shock Sword at the next traffic light - an idea "Purity" was quite in favor of. However, simply rescuing the shapeshifter boy and his mother didn't seem enough from my perspective. It would be more prudent to first understand why they were kidnapped, identify who was behind it, apprehend the culprits, and then put an end to this ordeal.
There was also the option to descend and catch up with the vehicle, peering inside to see what was transpiring. However, before I leapt into action, I wanted to gather more details. Was this a solo operation, or was there a second party tailing the ambulance as backup?
And was there actually an injector at the boy's throat, or was that my imagination playing tricks on me? After all, why would anyone want him, a clanless loner? As far as I could recall, the lad didn't have any money or valuables to his name. And the need for such an elaborate, audacious kidnapping in broad daylight was beyond my comprehension. Naturally, my mind spun a web of possible explanations, but there was no time to sift through them, determining which was plausible and which was farfetched. Just as I was about to move in closer and investigate the cabin, the ambulance made an abrupt detour, exiting the flow of traffic and entering the compound of a city hospital.
Such a sudden turn took me by surprise. Had I been hallucinating, and there was no kidnapping in the first place? I closed the distance, descending lower for a better view. The ambulance came to a halt at the entrance, and two paramedics unloaded a stretcher carrying the shapeshifter's mother, whisking her off to the emergency room. Immediately after, the vehicle roared back to life, picked up speed and narrowly missed hitting a barrier as it hastily vacated the hospital grounds.
I was utterly baffled. Why did the kidnappers leave the boy's mother at the hospital? Had her condition deteriorated all of a sudden? Perhaps, but since when did criminals bother about collateral damage during abductions?
In the meantime, the ambulance, unapologetically flashing its emergency lights, was now headed towards the old port. The abrupt maneuver would have made it easy to spot any other vehicles involved in the kidnapping from my rooftop vantage point, if there were any. But since no other vehicle followed the ambulance, it was likely that there was no backup or additional cover.
Dropping down, I quickly overtook the vehicle and peered inside. The ambulance had three occupants: the driver, the familiar unconscious shapeshifter boy laid out on the cot, and a pseudo-doctor engaged in a phone conversation. To eavesdrop on the kidnapper's call, I infiltrated the cabin but they ended the call before I could hear anything significant. "Purity" was insistent, demanding immediate intervention to free the boy. But since the wakizashi's demands were only backed by an irritated vibration, I dismissed them. My intuition told me that this situation was more complex than it seemed, and if I truly wanted to help the boy, I needed to get to the bottom of it.
It seemed the boy was safe for the time being, and I didn't spot any weapons inside the ambulance. That being said, a weapon wouldn't necessarily be needed since the "doctor" radiated an aura of an experienced shapeshifter. Moreover, he was adept at concealing his true nature. An average person wouldn't suspect that this "doctor" was a clansman.
For five minutes, nothing occurred: the ambulance kept to a familiar path, the "doctor" appeared to gaze passively out the window, and the boy showed no signs of regaining consciousness. Then the "doctor's" cell phone let out a short beep, and he, without even glancing at the message, tapped the glass separating him from the driver. The ambulance immediately picked up speed and veered off the main road.
Based on the scenery outside the window, we had entered a territory I knew well, specifically the warehouse district of the old port. If one wished, it was easy to hide not just an ambulance here, but even a regiment of tanks. True, the recent crackdown on rogue clans in the aftermath of the battle against Eshin had somewhat depleted the local criminal element, but it hadn't eradicated them completely. Underneath the surface, the illicit life carried on as always. Externally, everything seemed orderly and neat, but if you knew where to look... It was no accident that this area was recognized as the smuggling hub not only of the capital but of the entire country.
Local laborers didn't bat an eye at the ambulance; skirmishes were a common occurrence around here, and emergency service vehicles were regular visitors. After navigating through a labyrinth of warehouses and towering stacks of sea containers, the ambulance finally pulled into a large, unmarked hangar. The gate closed behind us, and the "doctor," after checking the boy's pulse, hopped out of the vehicle.
I too exited the cabin, leapt onto a ceiling beam, and took stock of my surroundings. It looked like a typical warehouse, with floor-to-ceiling shelves teeming with boxes. While I was getting my bearings, the "doctor" briefly conversed with a trio of guards dressed in some private company's uniform, hoisted the unconscious boy onto his shoulder, and headed towards the back rooms.
The guards promptly reopened the gate, and the ambulance departed as if it had never been there. I followed the "doctor." He moved one of the racks against the wall out of sight of the guards, revealing a barely discernible door with a numeric keypad. After swiping a magnetic card to unlock it, the "doctor" stepped into a narrow, pitch-black corridor and closed the door behind him, engulfed in complete darkness. Nevertheless, the absence of light didn't seem to faze him as he moved confidently without bumping into the walls.
From the slight incline of the floor, I deduced that this lengthy and dimly lit corridor was leading downward, probably to one of the many subterranean shelters of the port mafia. Roughly seventy years ago, the ominous shadow of a major war loomed over Novilter, prompting the construction of a network of bomb shelters at this location. The threat subsided, halting the construction, and it appeared they even sealed off the portions that had already been dug. However, that was only on paper. In reality, after greasing the right palms, the criminal clans gained control of an extensive network of underground shelters, which officially didn't exist.
Naturally, due to the fragmentation of these gangs and their incessant warfare amongst themselves, the underground network was never unified. For the most part, it wasn't even a network, but a collection of well-concealed underground bunkers that criminal gangs utilized as they saw fit.
After traversing at least a hundred meters in pitch-black darkness, the "doctor" finally reached another door and pressed the call button. In less than thirty seconds, it was opened for him.
Behind the door was an almost untouched bomb shelter - several cramped rooms filled with three-tier bunk beds and utility facilities. I also counted nine goons, certainly not the cream of the crop, just ordinary thugs, with only one being a clansman, the one who greeted the "doctor."
"So, this is him?" asked the clansman who had met the "doctor," spitting on the floor.
"Exactly," the "doctor" confirmed, placing the boy on one of the bunks.
"Keep him on water and bread for three days," the leader of the local thugs began to instruct. "Make sure to intimidate him properly beforehand."
"Yes," the kidnapper succinctly replied.
"We'll do it," the local thug chuckled. "Can we rough him up?"
"You can, just make sure not to break any bones."
"So, go easy on him, you mean?" The thug wasn't exactly thrilled with this limitation. "Alright. The second part of the payment?"
"Fifty thousand, right here," the "doctor" handed him a fairly thick envelope. "And after three days, just dump him somewhere in the outskirts, naked and slightly beaten up. At that point, our agreement will be fulfilled."
"Yeah," the local thug nodded. "This isn't our first rodeo."
Following this brief exchange, the "doctor" said his goodbyes and exited through the door.
So...
What's my next move?
Should I stay here and rescue the boy, or should I first follow the "doctor" to get to the bottom of this bizarre kidnapping?