The Moon's Fangs | 1
22 | burning the midnight oil

Nolan

“Noles, where in Shayd’s Ass are you? Father’s been pissed ever since getting back from that drawn-out meeting with The Circle. He’s come asking for you twice now. If you don’t show up soon, he’ll figure out I’m covering for you.” Nikoe relented through the comm link. “Kind of hard to lie for you, entertain our little sister, and oversee training for both our regiments at the same time. I’m not a fucking juggler. That’s your job, you clown.”

Nolan crossed the poorly lit bridge, hands in pockets. “Ah, come on. I’ve covered for you how many times now? Besides, I only need a couple more hours, tops. Tell Orlice she’s in charge of keeping the guys from slacking off around the obstacle course. She won’t hang all over you if you give her a job. Plus, it’s funny watching the new recruits follow her weird little kid orders.” He laughed, recalling how their little sister kicked a soldier lazing around right in the spine. She’s only seven years old, but she takes the job of being the boss very seriously. It helps that Nolan made sure the guys did exactly as Orlice instructed whenever he put her in charge of anything. They knew if they didn’t and it got back to him, they’d suffer the consequences. Nikoe could call him a clown all he wanted, but he ran strict trainings when it came down to it.

As for their father, what was new? The man's always pissy about something or another. Nolan couldn’t care less.

“Alright, fine.” His brother obnoxiously sighed in his earpiece. “But seriously, what are you doing, combing through the entire underground city? You’ve been gone for hours. If it’s a criminal you’re after, just head straight for the seventh district. You’re bound to find someone who recognizes the guy down there in that shithole.”

Hours well spent, he thought as he pressed his thumb to the corner of the bridge’s railing, casually slipping his hand back into his pocket as he stepped onto the final district.

He hadn’t exactly told Danika and Nikoe the full story about what happened at Altered. He disclosed just enough to keep them off his back about additional details. If he had tried to explain what he saw… well, they’d probably think he took a hit too hard to the head. The less they knew the better. The less they were involved, the better. Hell, he would’ve kept the whole ordeal from them if it weren’t for D finding Amelia first. He was glad she’d conveniently missed the action involving his newly proclaimed arch-nemesis.

Never - never had he witnessed a Guide be controlled outside of one’s body. And to top it off, this Guide wasn’t even the color of amber it was supposed to be. What did that mean? Was the Black Market now capable of generating top-grade illegal Guides? No chance Baze had the means for something like that. He lacked the recourses. Even an ambitious high rank couldn’t pull off something that successful. Plus, he’d been under the impression Baze's passion lied with plant growth and distribution. A Robin Hood-type figurehead, but with the body of an orc.

If that wasn’t just a guise to hide their true intentions, then he had no idea where this girl-snatching thug could have obtained the illegal advancements. He already spent most of his time since losing the two sitting in various pubs on different levels, trying to catch rumors of any potential leads or related illegal activity. If this turned into a dead end too, he might have to manually search through every profile in the database to find a match on the guy. Which would be really flipping hard and painstakingly long since he only caught a look at the top half of the guy’s face. But it would be a necessary action since his Guide found jack-squat.

He prayed to the divine Fates it wouldn’t come down to that. He had a bad feeling this thug had the wits to cover his tracks and the means to do so with that modified Guide of his.

Illegal Guides in the past have always been defective, corrupt, and caused more problems than anything else. When he was a kid, he remembered his grandfather having to deal with citizens who'd gone completely lunatic after getting some kind of strange surgery by some back-alley doctor who promised to turn their Guides into something… evolved, and even required their patients to get weekly injections.

He had a cringy memory of overhearing a report of those patients dying from their Guides melting from the inside, causing a slow and agonizing death. It was rumored those inflicted souls were claimed by the Crowned Prince of Shayd himself.

It all took place here, in the seventh district of Asylum. It was the main reason why most stayed far away from this place, scared of what else lurked here. They were right to keep their distance. This place was creepy as fuck.

“It’s like you can see where I am.” Nolan laughed to pull away from that dark recollection, walking by a sketchy run-down shack. “This is my last stop before home, promise.”

It was a good thing he switched his uniform out for street clothes in the last district. His militaristic clothes would have stood out like a sore thumb. He wished he would’ve snagged a glamour when he had the chance earlier today, but the street clothes and hood combo would have to do.

Two junkies chilling on damaged crates eyed him as he passed by. He caught their glassy stares searching for anything of value on his person. His Guide peered into both of their profiles, proving the duo to have multiple crimes attached to their records. Low-grade, mostly. As long as he didn’t have anything interesting exposed and he kept his hood up, they’d probably leave him be.

“Look… if you find her, we can hole her up here at the colosseum. I know you left her out of the story intentionally when having to explain the dweller chase to father, and I chose to not rat you out because I’m a great brother and all. But there’s no reason to keep father in the dark on this. If he knew a human girl was kidnapped, he’d give you the men and recourses you needed to track her down.”

He had to keep his over-the-top eye roll out of his tone of voice. But man, his brother was quite the suck-up! For Nikoe, father was the answer to everything. The end-all-be-all.

For Nolan, it was quite the opposite. Exaggeratingly so. “Yeah, maybe. But I’d rather not involve him unless we’re left with no other choice. Plus… if father decided Amelia needed to be questioned, there’d be no stopping him. Once he’s in charge, our say holds no leverage. We won’t be able to advocate for her. Whatever decision we make here, we’ll have to deal with the consequences. Amelia’s already racked up enough trauma as is. Y’know?”

Nolan also borrowed all the recourses he needed to help in his search anyways. There wasn’t anything his dear old father could give him he didn’t already have. Temporarily. He’d need to make sure everything he borrowed without permission found its way back to the colosseum’s armory before the weekly inventory took place. Especially since Nikoe was the one responsible for keeping everything accounted for.

“Ugh. This thing between you and father is exhausting. I get where you’re coming from, but the girl already knows too much as it stands. And it doesn’t help that she’s been kidnapped by a hostile, who’s probably feeding all kinds of bullshit nonsense.” Nikoe sighed. “The chances of her keeping her mouth shut about us are seriously low. We both know that. I know you don’t want to hear it, but going back home may not be an option for her.”

The way this conversation went, he knew Nikoe would only side with him for so long. When it came down to it, Nikoe would blab to their father. It was only a matter of time. His brother’s sense of loyalty to their father trumped all.

Perhaps if Nikoe knew what he knew, things would be different. But he just didn’t have it in him to be the one to set fire to that perfect image in his brother’s head. It was an unnecessary pain which Nolan already shouldered. And he decided a long time ago to burden it alone.

The noise level gradually increased the closer he neared his destination. “Gotta go. We’ll talk about this when I get back.”

“You owe me, Cannon Fodder.” Nikoe growled, ending the call.

Nolan laughed at the cruel nickname, walking up to a large man acting as the bouncer outside of The Cage. After a quick flash of a gambler’s card, the man stepped aside.

He confiscated the card a few years ago from a sketchy dweller who took frequent visits here before getting arrested, and it has come in handy on quite a few occasions.

Nolan flashed him a shadowed grin, sliding past the big fella without a word. He slipped his hand out of his pocket long enough to press a thumb against the inner part of the door’s frame leading inside before returning his hand back into his pocket.

The Cage was the only place he knew to attract the interest of all ranks of orleizen citizens. Betting on illegal fights had that effect. Especially on a civilization trying to survive in a cage with a name as pretty as the Oasis.

As always, it was an utter madhouse inside The Cage. He kept his scratchy hood in place, knowing full well high-ranking citizens were here as well, either cloaked and masked or wearing expensive glamours to conceal their identities among the lower ranked. By a quick scan of profiles, the majority had little to many charges to their names. Not the best place for him to be recognized. People here liked to spit on the Rhosyn name.

Men and women wearing blacked-out full-faced masks with a bleeding neon eye painted in the center of their foreheads, known as clerks, walked around collecting customers’ bets on the next fight. Their neon uniforms left little to the imagination from the neck down. A projection of the odds for the upcoming fight rotated around their creepy masks as new bets were made. He watched as bets poured in, changing the odds of the fight drastically back and forth as the two fighters entered the large, battered cage in the center of the room. Both men looked to have seen their equal share of fights.

Even though Guides could heal wounds, it was only to an extent. Here in an illegal fighting ring like this where orleizens fought to make money, pay off debt, or settle whatever kind of blackmail someone had over their head… they'd rack up more than their share of scars. With how often they fought in these cages, it’s impossible for their Guides to keep up with the constant brutality.

“And you, sir?” a neon clerk approached him.

He tilted his head down, away from the neon light that wanted to cast his face, and smiled. “I’m saving my bets for the main event.”

“By main event, you’d better be talking ’bout me.” Came a gravelly voice from behind as a hand gripped his shoulder.

He’d recognize that voice anywhere. “Speak of the devil.” His smile grew as he turned to face the man. Well, he called him a man because he deserved just that. But the cage fighter was barely seventeen. No one would ever think that though from the rugged look on his face or from the scars laced down every inch of his body. The most pronounced one being the long streak of faded pink across the bridge of his crooked nose, starting an inch under his left eye and ending a hair shy of his right temple. Plus, the guy had a few inches on Nolan, and well… most orleizens. “Just the guy I’ve been looking for.”

“This runt’s with me, Clerk.” Etch motioned for the neon girl to leave them be, waiting for her to be out of earshot before continuing. “What’re you doing in a place like this, Cap’n? If they figure out a Rhosyn boy’s here, it’ll cause everyone to flee and it’ll turn into a shit show.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to make any busts. Well, maybe one. I’m looking for someone.” he willed his Guide to pull up a projection tablet and a pen. He used the pen to draw a stick figure with a mask covering the bottom half of his face, giving it black hair and evil black eyes, then added blue squiggly lines from his wrists. “There. This guy. You haven’t seen someone like this enter this fine establishment, have you?”

Etch leaned down, squinting at his version of art. “Is that ’sposed to be a person?”

“A dangerous one.” Nolan added.

Etch busted out in a gruff laugh. “What, with that sticky body? And what’s up with all that blue blood comin’ out of his arms in this picture?”

“Har-har.” Nolan gave him a half-serious glare before having the projection blink away. He would have had his Guide pull up an actual picture of the guy from his memory of their altercation at Altered, but any time he tried, it wouldn’t work. It was as if his own Guide didn’t have access to project an image of the thug’s freaking face. Since when does that happen? Never!

After checking to make sure others around them had their attention focused on the fight, he took the time to give Etch a detailed description of the mystery thug, which wasn’t much to go off from. Besides the guy’s uncommonly dark eyes, the only other distinguishing feature he caught was a small braid starting behind his left ear, a long-outdated style. The guy’s hair also looked way too luscious. And it was long enough that the thug could probably manage to tie it in a little ponytail at the nape of his neck.

Nolan felt obligated to think of these weird details because he had nothing else to describe the man. Ugh. What a pain!

“It’s like this guy disappeared into thin air.” he continued explaining after talking entirely too long about another man’s hair. “I had him cornered in D-Two… then nothing. There’s no way my men could’ve missed him and the girl.”

Etch rubbed his prickled chin, which grew patchy around a couple scars. “No bounty going on his head, huh? Can’t say I’ve seen anyone like that 'round here recently. But who’s to say he ain’t using a glamour or somethin’. What about this girl? She hot?”

Nolan leveled with him, grinning impishly. “Absolutely gorgeous, man. But don’t go getting any ideas. I’ve called dibs.” He pointed a finger gun up at him in a joking manner, pretending to aim between his eyes above the long scar.

Etch huffed out a laugh, crossing his arms across his nicked-up chest. “I’d start asking around the Black Market. They’ve got eyes ’n ears all over Asylum. Between you an' me, Baze's had somethin' stuck up his big ass since yesterday.”

The crowd went up in an uproar as one of the fighter’s hit the ground with an audible crack.

“You’re thinking they’re involved in this?”

Etch grunted. “I only think that ’cause you mentioned losing them in the second district. They’ve got a shortcut route behind the tattoo parlor leading straight to seven. Never heard ’bout them dealing in illegal Guide shit, but doesn’t mean it’s not happening behind closed doors. Baze may've had a hand in raisin' me, if you could even call it that, but the only person he trusts 'sides himself is the tiny pink gremlin.”

“Huh. You don’t say…” Nolan’s brows rose. He didn’t know that little fact about there being a shortcut behind the tattoo parlor. It would have been nice to know about it prior to this mini-disaster. He’ll have to remember to check that out on his way out.

Etch stopped rubbing his chin, his piercing blue eyes locking on to someone on the opposite side of the fighting cage. “There he is. Man of the hour.” He shoved Nolan’s shoulder, pointing over at the overly buff plant enthusiast. “Want me to ask him ’bout your guy? Hand over Squiggles. I’ll show ’im your pathetic drawing.”

Squiggles. Ha! Now that was a nickname he could get behind.

Nolan lightly punched the side of Etch’s arm, keeping a steady gaze on Baze making his way up the spiral stairs leading to the second floor. The man had a grim look masking his rough, haunted-like features. One of his eyes had swollen shut, and a deep, gnarly red line stood out against the front of his throat, like the orcish man barely survived a trial by hanging.

Fates. Who’d have the guts to hit and strangle an intimidating dude like that?

A wide grin spread across his face as an idea came to mind.

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