Chapter 15

The streets here lacked the bustling beehive-like quality of the rest of Nero City, thought Artemvian.  Though the metaphor was slightly off since beehives required its workers to all work towards a common goal and the citizens of Nero City did not, to say the least.  No, this place reminded him of the lumber mills, stone quarries or the docks at home.  Places like these were populated by a rough sort, which was inevitable.  

As society advanced as a whole, it became inevitable that most people wouldn’t want to earn their living through manual labor.  Politics were the name of the game and Coin was the lifeblood that kept its players at the table.  The offspring of these players would take their rightful place, as Arcane Engineers, Architects, Speakers of the State and Senate, Professors and even Mages.  Yes, those with the means to do so would not resort to working menial labor to earn a few coin –with the exception of family business of course.

So it was Artemvian’s theory that the more advanced a society became, the darker its dredges became.  Like how a body produces waste, so the Empire had to produce its own waste to clean up.  Someone had to do the dirty work –both cooking the food we ate and cleaning the shit we shat.  Of course, no politician in their rightful mind would do that and most parents would work hard to spare their children the same fate.  As a result, it was inevitable that places like these attracted those who had no other options –the unsavory sort who’d fallen out with the law or couldn’t find their place in society elsewhere.

All humans longed for a connection and here, someone like them could find it as well.

In Artemvian’s experience, he should have either been approached by a swindler or mugged within half an hour.  Blasted hells, he should have had someone following him the moment he got off the taxi.

There was no one here.

Only that repulsive, wriggling sensation of Undeath that perpetuated the area.

The answer was simple: The Ghouls here had built a nest and begun to feed.

This was the perfect place.  Only a few apartments –all run down and boarded up.  But when Artemvian went deeper into the district, he found warehouses.  Yes, the perfect place for these scum.  Visitors would be far and few in between –refer to above about these people being unable to fit in elsewhere– and as long as the Ghouls made sure the supplies kept being provided to the city, no one would come to investigate.  Most likely, the Ghouls had taken over this district or were in the middle of doing so.  Hence, the Gang Wars that the cabbie kept warning Artemvian about.

Ghouls were like parasitic worms, feeding off of the life of this place.  They stood against everything that humanity stood for and though Artemvian made it a point not to judge daemons or monsters on sight, it was hard to spare sympathy for the Ghouls.

It took no time at all for Artemvian to find the warehouse where the stench of Undeath was coming from.  A warehouse that stood out from the rest simply because it was two times as big as the rest.  It was surrounded by tall brick walls, like a castle, and had barbed wires on top.  There was a large sign that stood up from the ground that said ‘Jonnson’.  The name rang a bell, but Artemvian wasn’t sure where he heard it…

He dismissed the notion and hid in a nearby alley.  Hidden in shadow, he watched the main gate.

No trucks.  No people going in or out.

Yet the lights were on inside.

“Definitely Ghouls…”  Artemvian muttered to himself.  Formulating his next steps, he took out a bag of potato chips.  He grabbed the edges with both hands, eyes still glued to the gate.

Cold iron touched the back of his neck.

“Don’t move.”

Artemvian compiled.

“Hands behind your head.”  It was a woman’s voice.

“Uh… I’m holding a-”

“Drop it.”

“...What? But it’s a-”

The gun stabbed with sudden ferocity, burrowing into the skin.  “I said drop it!”

The woman was angry, possibly enough to shoot.  He dropped the chips with a groan, putting his hands behind his head.  “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“Stay still.”

Then hands went into his jacket pocket and then his pants.  Doiley cards fell out by the dozen.

“Hey! Those are-”

“This is mine.”  The voice hissed with victory and took the badge from him.

Ah, so it was the woman from before.  The agent of the state.

Artemvian’s wheels began spinning.  “You’re making a mistake.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yeah, a big one.”

“I don’t know about a mistake, but what I do know is that I’m arresting a Mage who tampered with a crime scene.”  Artemvian heard the click-clack of handcuffs.  “You’re under arrest.  We can go down to the station and talk all about what you were doing there.”  she paused.  “Are you licensed?”

“Er… License?”

“That’s a no then.”  One handcuff snapped around Artemvian’s wrist.

Artemvian felt a flurry of panic, little snowflakes falling around his heart and threatening to bury him under.  “Look, if you’re an agent of the state –a police woman– you must know that it isn’t normal for someone to be hanging around here.  Look around you, this place.  Does it seem normal to you?”

The policewoman, Celene was her name, didn’t answer for a beat.  Artemvian took that as a sign to continue.

“Tell me.  How many missing people are reported in the neighborhoods surrounding this one?  Ten in the last month? Twenty? Thirty?”  Artemvian continued, feeling the cold iron of handcuffs whirring around his wrists.  Whatever this contraption was, it wasn't a normal handcuff.  He already felt the flow of mana being cut off from that hand.  Oh it was weak and he could break it apart with a simple display of power, but it would cost him precious seconds.

Not to mention this woman had that weird machinery built into her arm that seemed to interfere with magic somehow.  That was why Artemvian wasn’t risking a show of force right now.  With a gun pointed right at the back of his head, he wasn’t going to take any chances.  Besides, the fact that she could sneak up to him alone spoke volumes to the amount of skill this woman had.  She wasn’t just a lackey, that was for sure.

“So what of it?”

“So… I’m saying I know what’s going on.  And I’m here to put a stop to it.”  Artemvian whined.  “Come on, what harm did I really do?”

“Besides breaking and entering into a crime scene? Snooping around her workplace?”  She growled.  “Let me see.  Impersonating an officer.  Theft of Government Property.  Oh and fucking assault.”

“You tried to hit me first…”

“All right, I’m going to-”

“I’m looking for Helen Papier.”  Artemvian muttered, the words spilling out of him.  “I have reason to believe that she’s been kidnapped by a gang.  I also have reason to believe that this gang is operating out of that factory over there.”  He gestured to it with his chin.  “It’s not just Helen in there either.  I can sense other people in there.”

“How?  You can hear their thoughts?”

“...Yes.”  He lied.

Again, silence.

“Before, when I talked about the missing people, you didn’t deny it.  You said ‘what of it’.  So there are missing people.  I bet it’s not just everyday people either.  It’s always woman isn’t it? Young woman.  Teenagers.”  As he spoke, he could sense her growing… not fear, but uneasiness.  What he was listing was the hunting habits of Ghouls.  “At first, I bet it was one or two.  Something that no one would notice.  But now, there are missing people by the droves.  I bet the higher-ups blame the gang war.  Look around in this neighborhood, we’ve been talking for a good ten minutes now.  Does this look like it’s in the middle of a gang war?”

“I’m here to help them.”  He finally finished.  “You have to believe me.  You can arrest me after if you want but…”

Artemvian knew he was right.  A gang war of that scale in Nero City, with the type of weaponry at their disposal, would definitely have left its marks.  Yet, no scorch marks existed and better yet, no sign of battle.  No bodies.  No stains of blood.  Not a single one on the way here.  If this woman was half as skilled as he suspected, he knew she’d see his way.  But it was still a gamble.

Cause he was hoping that she was one of those ‘good’ agents who cared about the people.

Odds were stacked against him.  Why?

Because he hadn’t been one of those good agents in his previous life himself.  But he wanted to believe.  That this life was going to be different.  That he was going to help people and be a good person.

Then she said the words that sealed his fate.  “I don’t believe you.”

Artemvian cursed.  Perhaps he wasn’t meant to be a good person.

Or maybe he was.

Because right as he felt the cold-iron of the other handcuff wrap around his other wrist, a truck stopped right in front of the gate.  The two of them had a pretty good view of what was inside the truck as it pulled in.

People.

Handcuffed and obviously unconscious.

And every single one of them was a young woman.

Just like Artemvian claimed.

A fierce smile stretched over Artemvian’s mouth as Celene stiffened behind him.  These next words she spoke unsealed his fate right back.

“Son of a bitch.”

He was in.