Chapter 2: Riley's Joint (1)

Artemvian released the man and walked back into the alleyway, fully aware of the fact that he must have looked like a raving madman.  Buck naked without the decency to hide his private parts with even a single palm for god’s sakes, grabbing a passerby and screaming at him to name where this place was.  Fat raindrops continued to fall upon the Mage’s now much younger body, dribbling down to the hard concrete streets.

Mage or not, he’d soon freeze.

Upon his return, he saw the two ruffians before attempting to leave.

The crocodilian (or alligatorian, whatever tickled the fancy of the natives) man took one look at Artemvian, his beady eyes widened in shock.  Artemvian too, looked at the man in mild surprise, noticing that the previous wounds had already healed.

“Shit! He’s back! Come on, let’s bail!”  Without waiting for an answer, the man turned and attempted to escape.

Artemvian waved a hand, an invisible force made of sheer will and mana yanking on the man’s ankle.

Once again, the reptilian man fell, hard but the man had been ready, he caught himself before falling flat on his face again.  He turned, eyes loaded with fear.  Meanwhile, his partner hadn’t even bothered trying to get away, he stayed still, almost like a scared animal hoping that it wouldn’t get noticed.  The two of them shared a look with each other before turning to Artemvian.

“Look! We made a mistake.  We’re sorry.  We apologize.”  The half-reptile-half-human said, his arse still planted on the floor.  “If you let us go, you’ll never see us again.  I promise.”

“What he said, sir, er, Sir Mage.”  The man with the steel prosthetic bowed at the waist.  “Please let us go.”

Artemvian eyed the two thugs.  People like these were everywhere.  They were like scavengers, rats that lived in dumps with the habit of committing opportunistic crimes.  He had dealt with people like this in the empire, albeit they did not have the head of a crocodile nor a arm made of solid steel.  Still, thugs will be thugs and bandits would be bandits.  There was only one way to deal with them and that was with overwhelming force.

‘Should I kill them?’  Artemvian found the thought going through his head and the potent mana already flowing out from his heart and into his hands.

Letting out a sigh, Artemvian relaxed.

Whatever this world may be, whether it was the afterlife or not, there was a clear sense of newness here.  With it, there was a sparkling hope inside of him, as impossible as it sounded.  That there was a chance to build a new life.  Whether this was trickery by the gods or some weird version of the afterlife or simply a hallucination that his brain created upon the moment of death, it felt real.  The cold raindrops to the sound they made as they hit the hard concrete; the smell of rotten food and even the pupils of the thugs that looked for a weakness while feigning surrender.

Yes, this felt all too real for him to start killing a person.

Many believed that being a wetboy made you dull, made you care less about human life.  Artemvian found that it was the opposite for him.  Whenever he killed someone, he saw the aftermath and the far reaching effects of a person’s death.  A simple farmer might have been a father, a husband and upon his death, create a rippling effect that might change the entire course of a child’s life.  That child might lash out at the world and change the lives of others, a snowball of sorts.

Now imagine that effect with someone other than a farmer.  An influential politician.  A respected general.  A rival Prince.  A holyman of a powerful religion.

Yes, life wasn’t something to take so easily.

Whether this was some kind of arcane transmigration or an alternate dimension (which the academic mages of his world often argued about), Artemvian held true to that belief.  Lives mattered.

And he certainly wasn’t going to take his first step in this new place –possibly his home for an unforeseen amount of time– by killing.

No, he wouldn’t.

“Er, Sir?”  The steel-armed man ventured.

“Quiet.”  Artemvian silenced the man, still thinking.

Now that the sophistry of his new life was  out of the way, there were more pressing concerns.  After all, even the philosophers of his world debated that things like morals and conscience only emerged after the basic needs had been met.  Namely, food and shelter.  Which meant he would need money, or whatever passed as a form of currency in this world.

Artemvian needed a job.

He groaned out loud at the realization, swearing.  “By the fallen stars and fading sun.”

The two men startled like they had been jolted by lightning.

“Of all the things waiting for me after death, it’s to get a job and work?”  Artemvian groaned again, mustering all the dramatic flair he could.  “I have to go working for money? Where’s my virgins?  Or the Elysium Fields?”

Artemvian had thought he was done working.

“It seems there are some things that even death cannot get rid of.”  Artemvian muttered, ignoring the two men.  “And that’s an honest day’s work.”

The crocodilian man’s foot edged a fraction of an inch away from Artemvian, getting ready to make a run for it while Artemvian was preoccupied.

Almost subconsciously, Artemvian waved a dismissive hand and an invisible force of mana shot out from his body instantaneously, flattening the man against the wall.  The reptilian thug crumpled to the ground, unconscious, with one of his shoulders hanging loose.  The other thug looked at his partner than at Artemvian, back to the thug and once more to the mage.

“Uh, you were talking about getting work?  For money?”

Artemvian showed his teeth, nodding.  If there was one thing he could depend on these people for, it was a way of surviving in the dark mean underworld streets.  They often had fascinating ways of making money.  Stealing.  Grifting.  Fencing.  Anything.  And oftentimes, the amounts could be ludicrous.  The bandits would know how to make money and make money fast.

“You know where to find work?”

“It really depends on-”

“Quick and fast.”  Artemvian replied,  “Preferably somewhere that doesn’t ask too many questions.”

“I know just the place!  It’s called Riley’s Joint.”  The man was so much more cooperative after a show of force and he started spilling the information willingly.  In point of fact, on top of the directions he dug into his pockets and brought multiple rectangular objects.

Taking one, Artemvian studied the object.  It was impossibly flat and had a bunch of 1s and 0s running across a black strip which ran through the entire length of the object.  As he watched, the 1s and 0s continued to change.

“That’s all the doilies I have.”  The man explained.  “You can use it.  Untraceable since they’re linked to a burner account.”

“Like a voucher of sorts.”  Artemvian commented dryly.

“Yes.”

“Hm.”  Artemvian looked at the cards.  “How much is in each one?”  

“100 Doilies each!”

“And there’s three of them so that’s 300 Doilies.  Perfect.”  Artemvian smiled at the man.  “Your help is much appreciated.”

“Does that mean I can go now?”

“No.”  Artemvian’s eyes were flat and the man winced.

“Take off your clothes.”  Artemvian looked over the man’s outfit.  Some form of outerwear made of black leather.  Blue cloth pants and a white top layer.  They were of similar build and it would suffice.

It would not do to be arrested for public indecency.  

Though from what Artemvian saw the otherworlders of this world wear –though he realized he was the otherworlder and the others were the natives– he doubted they had the same definition of decency.  Clothing seemed to be much more… open to interpretation here.

“Sir, but it’s raining.”

“Exactly.”  Artemvian gestured to himself.  “I can’t exactly walk around naked now, can I?”

“But then I’ll be naked!”

“No you won’t.”  Artemvian sniffed daintly.  “You may keep your underwear.”

“But-”

“You can use the underwear to cover your private bits or your face.  That is none of my business.  However, the longer you take, the more my patience wears thin and I have half a mind to reduce your ability to make your own decisions like your friend over there.”  Artemvian smiled and rounded on the man, who began to step away from the mage.

“Now, I never thought I’d say this to a man but there’s a first for everything.”  The mage muttered, sinister light shining in his eyes.  “Take off your clothes, my good man, and I promise it won’t hurt.”

***

Artemvian walked past these vehicles called ‘cars’ which sped by him at breakneck speed.  He studied a particularly fancy one which was sleek with only two wheels, the rider clad entirely in black leather and something akin to a helm.  Artemvian whistled in admiration.

“Excuse me, do you know what that thing is?”  He asked a passerby.

The woman looked at him like he was crazy.  “It’s a motorcycle.”

“Wow… A motorcycle.”

“...Weirdo.”

Artemvian stared longingly at the motorcycle which set a funny fluttering feeling inside of him.  A little bit excited and a little bit scared.  Everything in this world was new to him and Artemvian could’ve spent the entire day walking around.

Alas, it was raining and he had no intention of spending the night out in the streets.  Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away and walked away from the strangely hypnotic vehicle.

This wasn’t the first time Artemvian had been placed in the middle of nowhere with nothing but his Wit and Magic.  His former profession made sure of that.  He infiltrated demon strongholds, forged alliances with elves, hunted rogue devils and more in the name of the Crown.  More often than not, it meant that he ended up naked with a nearby building on fire.

He was used to dealing with bandits like those two.  It was just that he could count on one hand the number of times he’d let one live.

He’d left those two alive for many reasons.  One, he had no idea what kind of consequences would follow if he killed other worlders while in their territory.  Two, Artemvian didn’t want to get into the habit of killing.  Perhaps spending all those years in the Library had made him softer, more romantic.  He regretted the choices he made as a young man and the blood he had spilled in the name of the Crown and for what? All he got in exchange was a nice office where he was kept under guard, fear that he might divulge state secrets.

Never allowed to wed.  Never allowed to make real connections.

Funny how it just started with him wanting to make the world a better place for people.

It didn’t take him long to find the place.  Riley’s Joint was a small building in the corner of nowhere, though to be fair, this place called Nero City was just bland.  Everything seemed to seamlessly blend in with one another, gray concrete buildings standing in rows, similar heights and even the denizens –despite their flashy attire– didn’t stand out from one another.  A Flamingo might look flashy when compared to crows and chickens but among a flamboyance of its own?

If Artem didn’t know better, he’d say the whole city was under an obscure spell.

The pub had big flashing letters that read ‘Riley’s Joint’, switching from yellow to purple to orange with a hypnotic pattern.  Compared to the surrounding structures which stretched upwards as far as the human eye could see, it was a simple two-floor building.  A little run down, if he was being particular.  Opening the swinging doors, Artem walked into a pub the likes of which he had never seen.

As Artemvian approached, the door opened on its own.

Inside was something he was more used to, but strangely alien all the same.  A circular bar at the front with stools that stood around in a semicircle.  There were other tables strewn about the place and Artemvian fought not to stare too hard at the other inhabitants.  There was a pair of women at a table near the entrance, both with all sorts of metallic enhancements lined through their bodies.  One of them even had an enhancement on her eye.  They gave him one look and dismissed him, continuing to speak in low voices.

Another elderly couple enjoying a glass of wine at a table near the window, evidently off in their own world and looking out at the rain which dribbled against the glass.  They hadn’t even looked at him when he entered, staring longingly outside.

Flowing purples drapes and tapestries made of red adorned the walls, combined with a wooden bar counter made of perfectly polished mahogany.  The drapes weren’t real fabric but a non-physical imagery; what the man had called a ‘hologram’.  The walls had paintings of people smiling, frowning and just living life in general.  A mixture of refined tastes and a somewhat homely lived-in feel.

“Welcome to Riley’s Joint.  Can I help you?”  said a pale-skinned woman standing behind the bar, polishing glass.

The woman was dressed in a black shirt that had buttons lined down the middle, with a red-colored sleeveless tunic.  Her hair was white, not pale silver or gray with age, but pure white that stood out against everything else in the bar so that your eyes were subtly drawn to her whether you wanted to or not.  She wasn’t what Artem would call well blessed by Aphrodite in terms of the curvature of her body, there was a sort of an elegant attractiveness to her slim profile.

“Well met, fair lady.  I’m looking for work.”  He sort of bowed at the waist.

She curled an eyebrow at him then went back to polishing the wine glass.  “What kind of work?”

Artemvian noted that she did not return the bow.  Barbaric.  Regardless, he put on his best charming smile.

“Why, I hunt monsters.  You wouldn’t happen to know of any, would you?”

The white haired woman set the wineglass down then leaned towards him, both palms on the counter.  She narrowed her eyes at him.  “Define monsters.”

“Oh… you know.  Vamps and their thralls.  Goblins.  Onis.  Ghouls.  Jiangshis.  Ghosts.  That sort of thing.”

She shook her head.  “I get all the freaking nutjobs.  You’re looking for the comic book store down the street.”  Then she added, “Ghosts.  What do you think this is? A fantasy webnovel?”